I feel alone. I feel like the only one sitting here in this throne. Emptiness for accompaniment. Sadness in this establishment. Housing big servings of feelings that are only mine to digest. Pulling my chair up to an unoccupied table. Feeling like instead of in my kingdom, I am eating from the stables. Being fed bullshit enough to get my belly full. Then I feel uncomfortable. I realize that I am not being fulfilled, this has become illogical. Magical time and show is over. I need to be held onto forever. Or at least when it’s clever to show that the care is as deep as said. More than text messages and weekend dates in bed. More than hey this is what I did today, more like, I need you in my life, how is your heart, baby? Me, I’m crying inside I’m crying outside, Im feeling like it’s the pride that keeps me from dying. Again with the crying. I wish I didn’t feel so alone in my mind. Especially when I share it so openly. I give my thoughts over to help you see me accordingly. See me so that my heart feels your love for me. But I don’t feel that. I feel pushed, slightly. Away is not quite right, but averted from deepening. Lonesome reasoning.
To be told I’m loved. Even if it’s late.
To be told I’m loved. Even if it’s early.
To be told I’m loved. Even if I know it.
To be told I’m loved. Especially before I sleep.
To be told I’m loved. Especially when I am sad.
To be told I’m loved. Especially when I’m being difficult.
To be told I’m loved. Every time I’m full of doubt.
To be told I’m loved. Every time I want to run away.
To be told I’m loved. Every time I feel distant.
To be told I’m loved. Proved by desired time talking.
To be told I’m loved. Proved by asking me to be near.
To be told I’m loved. Proved by asking about my heart.
To be told I’m loved. Providing a safe space for my healing.
To be told I’m loved. Providing open ears to hear my feelings.
To be told I’m loved. Providing a vision of love without fear.
To be told I’m loved. Desire to share time and energy.
To be told I’m loved. Desire to learn more and connecting deeply.
To be told I’m loved. Desire to know and inquire my mind.
To be told I’m loved. Devotion of kindness and empathy for my pain.
To be told I’m loved. Devotion of priority to reflect affections.
To be told I’m loved. Devotion to my being, because of love, only love.
it took a little longer but it has come again, and the interest of keeping its company is wearing incredibly thin. it is not welcomed and never invited to stay, yet no matter how many times it is dismissed, back to me, it finds its way.
why is it so insistent and why does it think it is wanted? it only leaves me hollow and my soul left haunted. it begins by tip toeing a twirl around my spirit, and tries to offer a swoon of songs, starting so softly, alluring me to hear it.
how many times have i looked into its implying eyes, intentions of hope while the path laid ahead is paved by lies. how many times have i fallen into its hand basket, so pretty and made well..i cry out simply, too many too many too many to tell.
it takes opportunities to jab its insults, leaves remnants of disturbance, radical distortions and tumult. even among the scattered shrapnel and debris, it spins its webs of false ideas and ideals, waiting to snare its prey, me.
i stand with resistance and beg for it to leave, disappear, don’t return. stop looking at my soul to set your fire in, find nowhere else to burn. enticing me, with its smoking curls and its beckoning brimstone, i run, i seek refuge in love, that is my home.
My house is so quiet. There is no one here but me. I’m not used to this feeling.
My house is so quiet. My mind is incredibly loud. I’m trying not to be proud.
My house is so quiet. It is close to time for bed. I’m begging for a quieter head.
My house is so quiet. There is ringing in my ears. Maybe that is just the echoing of my fears.
My house is so quiet. It seems so lonely inside. Is it from me or you that I’m trying to hide?
My house is so quiet. I need no lights on to see. No one will notice I wear your shirt to sleep.
My house is so quiet. I wish I could know what is next. I pray for resolution, for the heart, what is best?
My house is so quiet. Maybe I’ll hear the voice of reason. I yearn for the truth and our warmer season.
My house is so quiet. I see that resemblance from us. The next choice needs to be trust.
I can’t stop and it’s twisting up my head. It spills, stains my brain and makes my view full of lead. I see only nothingness as the target in my chest has been washed over as unimpressive, unimportant. It must be an imported goal, complete with unidentifiable instructions leaving a hole where it was intended to be whole. Gaping, kind of oozing from a wound that is nothing short of self abusing as I sit here expecting or even hoping for the perusing of such words I have put out to be read. Most likely taking risks of it being misinterpreted. Although that would be welcomed moreover than any false hope, and following paths that keep my interests broke. The trigger that pulled the gun of loves infliction now has chambered echoes of bottled indignation. Insulting the very beginning of held out foundational building. I keep building. Seeing with a blind intuition and leading myself into clear confusion. Seeing what’s not there, but knowing it is. Giving bits of fresh air but those breaths are short lived when I see the amount of time and space afforded to something stealing away, causing priorital decay, pushing the interests further away. With that, stay. Stay there in that example of complexity, in that world of feeling not quite wrong but rightly denying the subtle intensity. I see. It should be me, maybe too clearly I see. Maybe too clearly i just want to be seen, a scene hard to turn away from. And now, killing me, I play along, willingly. I want the heart, the soul, the brain to be freedom.
I don’t belong. No, not here. I don’t belong, with you my dear. I don’t belong and you have her near.
I don’t belong. No, maybe never did. I don’t belong and my feelings are hid. I don’t belong and you have her bid.
I don’t belong. No, I feel so out of place. I don’t belong and it begins to be erased. I don’t belong and you seek her space.
I don’t belong. No, can I please rewind. I don’t belong and I feel I’m falling behind. I don’t belong and she is your kind.
I don’t belong. No, my words have no value. I don’t belong and it’s your words I hang on to. I don’t belong and you play your game with her days long.
Where am I when I am searching inside? Can anyone still see me or is it a matter of mental seek and hide. I feel faded and not fully alive. I feel jaded like it’s difficult to contrive.
I sink deep into what I don’t want to feel and relinquish my hope. I splash about in the shallow end and desperately request a rope. My hands flail about and my effort is choked. Back to the bottom of the waters, my view comes from a fogged over scope.
In an awkward silence my thoughts begin to escape. They string together in an unnatural fray. I begin screaming inwardly for something important to say and I’m never quite sure if the words come together the right way.
Until it comes I will sit in my wonder. Until it is impressed and permeated I will mentally and verbally flounder. Will I know when it has arrived or will I hold it in front of me and ponder? Will I keep it at arms length or even a distance further and longer?
Why do I feel so out of place? What is it that my brain cannot erase? It holds on too tight to what I cannot say. It’s like a corset too tight at the lace.
Why do I feel so removed from myself? What is it that puts my comfortability so high on a shelf? It makes me reach further into empty wealth. Like I’m without the coin to toss into the well.
Why do I feel less like I am less than I am? What is it that keeps me from the “bigger plan?” It keeps me from deciding to sit or to stand. Like I am reading a book that I don’t understand.
Why do I feel like I could just fade away? What is it that keeps me wanting to stay? It withholds my affirmation and my mind starts to sway. It’s like I am without instruction but expected to play.
Why do I feel like I don’t belong? What is it that keeps me with this yearning so strong. It’s like I want to be right but impressed to be wrong. It is something I’ll keep up but not knowing for how long.
And then I realized, I am one of those pretty girls. I saw that there was no difference between those others and myself. See at first I thought I was less than them. I thought that I was nowhere near the bar they had set. I don’t have those skills. I don’t have that body. I don’t have that status. There is no way that I could ever be that.
And then I realized that I am one of those pretty girls. I saw that there was no difference between how you see them and how you see me. See at first, I thought I was more than them. I thought that I must have set the bar higher. I have admirable skills. I have a body that you crave. I have an aura about my status. There is no way they could ever be like me.
And then I realized that I am one of those pretty girls. I saw that perhaps there was no differentiation between the lust for those and the accessibilty to me. See at first I thought that I was chosen over them, but maybe I was just settled for. I have some more than excellent skills that make you shake, but maybe if they gave the time, youd exprience the same from them. I have a body that when your eyes are closed, you slip into as though maybe it is one of them you are thinking about. I have a status that says I want love and will take it if it seems as though maybe you want to love me, because they are taken or live too far away. There is no way that you would pass up on them because they are much more than me.
And then I realized that maybe I am just a pretty girl.
It comes out of nowhere. It tells you the truth that lies want to use as a cover. It sections off nothing and offers no disclosure.
It is allusive and gives no remorse. It sanctions nothing as sacred and promises to contort. It gives a visual of hope and has only desolation to report.
It is forced upon those who are desperately trying to heal. It comes full force when Love is the life’s appeal. It transitions hope into a perspective of false ideals.
It has become an inebriation. It transforms love into devastation. It gives face of light and darkens the illumination.
It has made me monstrous. It has erased all forms of calming guidance and patience. I have become brutal and callous.
I no longer know what to expect from me. It has taken my dreams and defecated on my reality. I am no longer who I want to be.