I used to believe there was a You out there waiting for me. That one day all this mess would make sense through someone else eyes.

And I guess, for a longer time then I’ll admit, it was comforting to think that if I just held out. Someone around some corner was there waiting for me, watching me, rooting for me.

It made hard days, liveable, and the bad things have some secret meaning so I didn’t just well, leave te mortal pedestal…

But I grew up, through heartaches to many too count and lessons I’d rather never speak of… and I learned the hard way that No One is coming. No One is waiting. Everyone Else is hoping for there You while sitting around instead of looking for the answers to WHY We needed a You in the first place.

And I learned You was a place holder, a goal to keep people like me in the fight. That idea of meaning something big to someone someday, to be safe and protected, loved and cherished… those were never things we were supposed to go without but so many of us did. And so We made up a You, and Yous go by so many other names; spouse, twin flame, soul mate…

But it’s all the same thing. The missing parts of what We needed to be whole, to feel worth wild, and valuable.

You see, I never needed a You, I just needed to start loving Me enough to heal.

I would rather my bones freeze and my soul burn out than to ever bend the knee to another undeserving selfish being.

I would rather scratch that itch of rebellion with hot irons through the back of my skull than to ever box myself in a prettier package for the sake of making you comfortable.

I will not cower, I will not beg, I will not shrivel up into a pit so you can replace me with a tamer model.

I will be loud, I will be strange, I will echo the rage of all the women in my blood and I will work with the very things that terrify your dirty soul because you know they are coming for you someday…

Now you’re afraid?

Is it because retribution does not tread on dainty feet? Or that rage does not just burn to ash quickly. No… They will destroy everything that is out of place and make it fear once more.

You are afraid of what you know is coming. That the lofty heights you crave to sit upon will crumble just as you get closer to the top.

You’re right.

And, I’ll be passing out the sledgehammer to make sure it does… and ill watch with Joy as hordes of demons drag you straight to hell where you always belonged.

I among so many others hate drizzly rainy days.

The kind where cold sweeps into your bones and you just can’t seem to get warm.

It is then so bewildering to meet the occasional person who does in fact prefer this kind of rain.

They come in two types:

The life embraces, who are love and light our the eyes. They grasp every day as sacred and a sign to learn… and I find this mindset exhausting and hollow.

I don’t believe them, no one can suffer with a genuine smile on.

Then there’s the Melancholy, who just seem to enjoy being sad and miserable. Or the appearance of sadness and misery rarely with the necessary trauma to be as genuine.. I find this mindset exhausting because it also lacks sincerity and depth.

Though I suppose depending on who you’d ask, I could be called either or both.

There are those who’d say my suffering is exaggerated and those who’d say my progress is hallow and… they remind me often they think so.

That’s the thing about labels and words. We define the definition of definitions’ definitions so much that anything can be any other thing through the right(or wrong) persons’ lense.

And that’s why I hate rainy days…

Too much time to think.

If i am really honest the best part of being the black sheep, the wild child, the crazy ones…

We are expected to fail.

We are expected to stumble and need help.

They smirk and laugh behind their hands at us when it happens.

But when you start to understand yourself enough to be stable.

Enough to take care of yourself and really thrive.

Not in that temporary way but the ones that means you’ve healed a whole heap from your past.

Oh that they don’t expect.

That makes them so angry.

And with each clipped tone and snotty comment…

It’s like regaining all the power they stole from you as a child.

So keep doing the work.

If for nothing else.

Do it to spite them.

I hate change.

I hate it more than horse flies at Sunday brunch

I hate it more than being stood up by love.

I hate it more than the memories that insist on visiting in the middle of a happy day.

I am like an animal trapped in iron teeth.

But instead of frantically chewing at my flesh to escape…

i would rather lay down and ‘wait it out’

Even though it may be certain death.

Which is probably why You lined up all this change in one foul swoop.

Pun intended.

My ancestors have said ‘enough is enough’ and decided we’d hit every trigger of my comfort zone.

It’s like being a baby bird who’s afraid to fly… so mother bird has shoved me out of the nest to show me I can do hard things.

Things that scare me.

Things that make me open up and feel vulnerable.

Because these are not truly “hard” things.

These are normal life things.

But I am an creature of great habit and my home tends to be my solace.

No.

Moving is challenging for different reasons than the logistics or expenses.

Those are not hard.

Bones broken by someone you love is harder.

Going somewhere new is not hard.

Fighting off hands that grab to tightly to expose flesh is hard.

I have survived truly hard things.

I have survived horrific sights of violence.

And developed this emotional allergy to trusting, new things, standing up for myself…

But I see… I have greatly undercut my grit in doing so.

I will survive this just like I survived my worst days and be better for doing so.

Some things…
Can never be unsaid.

It just leaves a seering pang where affection used to freely blossom.

A pain to remind you that this person is no longer trustworthy.

They are no longer safe.

Because when your guard was down and they thought no one could hear. They spoke a secreted truth they would never have dared say to your face.

And it hurt so much the world went cold… for the first time you couldn’t even get angry… you just felt your insides split… nothing was what you thought it was.

You questioned every word.

And you spaced out often.

But you were too afraid to bring it up, until you finally found the rage again and it, of course, bubbled over…

And over.

And over.

Now everyday feels like pretend.

You try to forget.

You try to ease back into the swing of life.

Try to distract yourself.

And sometimes you even forget for a little while.

But the sting comes back eventually to hit you when you least expect it as strong as the day it happened.

And the you have to question everything all over.

“Are you just that good of a liar” or “am I just this gullible,” or “is it all just partial truths…”

If they’re lies you’d never tell me the truth now would you…

No, that wouldn’t make sense.

And so then how deep do they go then?

But i suppose it’s much easier to heal these types of things if the person isn’t a compulsively nonchalant.

Or if the other person had even the slightest care for what they said…

No no.

It’s just an over reaction to be smoothed over with poetic words stolen from someone else’s mouth that you’ll mimick from icy emotionless eyes.

And i’ll still want to believe, and for a time I will…

But I don’t want to beleive in lies anymore. No matter how much they hurt to see. I just want to know where you really stand.

How can i be so contemptible to you but you are not willing to let go?

A poem would never have done you justice…

So I wrote a hundred love stories based on all the times bravery would have lead to love.

Yet now I stare at my blank screen, drained from life, I wondering why I let so many opportunities pass me by.

And swallowing down that I’m a coward.

My lack of: self confidence and charisma and refinery and just… being interesting in general.

Robbed me of just saying the words out loud.

And now I am too lived, too old, too wasted to do anything but write make beleive as if I have the right to craft happy ending while longing for my own.

Our love is like a poison that I can not put down.

It’s sweet acrid taste, has its hooks in me.

Or maybe I am blinded

Because when I try to remove you,

Deeper in you sink and yet i… i only seem to bleed and look away

Left gasping for my next breath, shaking from a cold coming from inside myself,

Even as my vision blurs, the world becoming a haze of shadows, and I begin to forget who I am…

I take another gulp because its all I’ve known how to do.

I wish it weren’t you I thought about today

But I couldn’t bring myself to stop.

I had expected you gone for good it had been quiet where your name had once stood in my way.

And yet here i sit… thinking about what could be.

Someday.

Someday, I will be strong enough to stand up to you.

Today though, I will slip into sweet thoughts. I will let memories sweep me away and envision a happier time.

For now, we just coexist in the same universe.

One day I will be strong enough to speak up for myself

Words will no longer get stuck in my throat as if they refuse to form

Not an affirmation… but a promise to myself

No more masks.

No more pretending I underatand warmth and safety

No more hiding in hyperbole and symbols only i can see through

I will speak words and I will no longer feel like they leave me flayed for the world to see..

Not today though.