Sincerely, The Damsels in Distress

To All Knights in Shining Armor:

Why do my hurts need to be fixed? Why can’t I just stay broken? What’s wrong with me not being whole? I have no desire to strive for perfection; it doesn’t exist anyways. When I vent out my problems, I’m not looking for you to solve them. My tears do not mean I’m pleading with you to repair anything.

Why can’t we talk about our failures, even with those supposedly closest to us, without them readying to leap to our rescue, to solve our troubles? If I need your help, I will specifically ask. Otherwise, assume that I am broken beyond repair, and do not want pity, only your silent presence of acknowledgement that I exist. Broken, whole, or shattered in pieces - I am here and you are standing with me, and that is all I really need.

4.19.2014

“Boredom often leads man to do what questionable morals would not.”

The Bridge to Felicity

Go away:
            The toothpaste and little hairs left in the sink.
            The toilet not flushed and seat still up.
            The mouthwash put back in the wrong place.

Go away:
            The dirty clothes strewn all over the floor.
            The dishes that pile up unheeded.
            The bed never made the right way.

Go away:
            The habits that bother me.
            The noises that annoy me.
            The ideas that irritate me.

Go away:
            To be free.
            You stayed.
            I left.

Atlas on Her Knees

Often, I consider how I’ll pass my first night when I finally get my own place. I will close all of the curtains, turn on all of the lights, and then I will curl into a ball and cry while I review every pain from the last decade or so that I’ve kept locked down deep inside and haven’t let myself feel for fear that I will completely shatter past the point of recovery. To me, gaining a home means being safe enough to finally feel free to have that breakdown you’ve been scheduled to have pretty much your whole life.

But that time isn’t now. In the present, it’s all about breathing out one heartbeat, and then the next, an endless repetition in order to continue a cycle of surviving in hopes of reaching that elusive tomorrow.

Sometimes, though, I’m so fucking tired of waiting for ‘someday.’ I want that day to be here already. It’s so exhausting, having to hold myself together every second, knowing that if I relax my grip for even a moment I’ll snap, and then a future really won’t ever come.

It’s hard to always ignore the little voice in my head telling me that maybe I just don’t deserve to have a future.

Can I at least just have five minutes to completely freak out without the momentary lapse resulting in lasting consequences that I can’t afford right now?

A Single Seed

A single seed.

So easy to crush
one would think.

A fragile thing
easy to kill
watch it wither
fade and die.

And yet, it takes
so very little
for hope to survive.

Just one slight hint
of a breeze
and hope never
truly dies.

Even if it remains
dormant
for a lifetime.