I taught myself to love loneliness because I had no choice, and it gave me talent, drive, and ambition. With time I lost the need to love it, and I forgot to practice. When I find myself alone, I am now afraid. I know not what to do or where to put my hands.
I am too much and I feel every sharp edge with a keen pain bordering on pleasure, and I drag myself along walls to make sure I sense every change in texture. I collect moments. I trace lines in bodies I care for to remember how they are built and claim people's bones for myself. I crawl close to you and stare intently with my mole-girl eyes at your chest to imprint on my mind the pattern of your body hair and the little cluster of stars just under and a little to the left of your heart. Or the scars on your knees. Or the deep pin-hole wells of emptiness scattered in your irises.
I get anxiety attacks that can only be cured by:
remembering I am my own person and can take back my life and "promise no one has to die"
your calm voice telling me that everything will be okay
getting the fuck away from everything.
I am too much and I hate it. I will buy a new suitcase (Expensive. Red leather, vintage) and pack down all my feelings and desires and expectations and hopes along with the ripped-off keys of my keyboard and get the fuck out of here. The blank page'll take the too much until just I am.
I am too much and I feel every sharp edge with a keen pain bordering on pleasure, and I drag myself along walls to make sure I sense every change in texture. I collect moments. I trace lines in bodies I care for to remember how they are built and claim people's bones for myself. I crawl close to you and stare intently with my mole-girl eyes at your chest to imprint on my mind the pattern of your body hair and the little cluster of stars just under and a little to the left of your heart. Or the scars on your knees. Or the deep pin-hole wells of emptiness scattered in your irises.
I get anxiety attacks that can only be cured by:
remembering I am my own person and can take back my life and "promise no one has to die"
your calm voice telling me that everything will be okay
getting the fuck away from everything.
I am too much and I hate it. I will buy a new suitcase (Expensive. Red leather, vintage) and pack down all my feelings and desires and expectations and hopes along with the ripped-off keys of my keyboard and get the fuck out of here. The blank page'll take the too much until just I am.