Oops.

I new there was a reason I hadn't let my self get started latley. Now it'll all come pouring, careening out, like waves; avalanches of things I'm afraid to feel and even more afraid to acknowledge. Giving form to fears and yearnings I was getting so good at denying. It's easier not to look at it when it's shapless. It's so much easier to bury if you close your eyes really tight and promise not to peek. But I fucked up and took a big long look and now It's all going to come crashing down, spilling out on to a bright white surface so it can show it's colors that much better. It's going to sit there coyly wondering who's looking at it and waiting patiently for me to decide I don't like it, detest it, want it gone, but lack the will to delete. It's always been stronger than the bits and pieces of me that are still whole. It's going to leave me feeling weightless and holding on just hard enough to make a desperate search for some kind of filler, weather it be appropriate or not. Weather it be mine, meant for me, or just a sad grasp at something that looks like it might be directed this way. I can't take the loss of something that was so long looked for. Another unshared need may be the end of me. Or at least the parts of me that still have hope of finding a proper place. I have the urge to lie on the floor kicking and screaming "I Want It! I Want It! I Want It!", and to be spoiled enough to get it. But I wasn't brought up that way. We don't ask for what we want around here, we look for ways to get it w/o any one ever noticing it was something we desired in the first place. And we never, ever, ever, just fucking say what we feel. We try to pretend we are poets and look for shelter behind a few meaningless phrases. Carefully chosen mind you. We try to pretty it up before we ever give it air. Honesty is a fear wholly unfaced, I never find the strength to give anything deeper than glimpses below surfaces, keeping the water murky and so deep you have no hope of reaching bottom. Thats where those bits and pieces sit, abated by the sheer and vast heaviness of it all. Wishing someone cared enough to dive in, knowing no one will ever see they need to, because we've built those walls so high and kept the outside as neat and shiny as possible. I'm afraid of the dark, I've caught to big a glimse to find it cosy. Felt too much warmth around me to ever be nourished by it again. I'm just so tired of being tired, of caring more than being cared for, of only wanting when not wanted. The fear of vulnerability seems to only strengthen one's need.

I fell off the wagon Ma, came crashing right back down. Let's all clap together now...






You'll ask if I'm ok, and I'll say I am, I've gotten good at excuses. And the more you push, the more silent I'll become. Because I don't have words if anyone's listening.