Nope. I don't like me like this either. Cold. Emotions at a distance. Protective. Ready to cut and slice. I don't know how I got here. Maybe it was just the soft sides going to sleep for a little while after so long struggling to find any room to breathe as we climbed down Everest. Maybe the hard side hasn't had a chance to run. Maybe it's the upcoming unknown unorganized transition. Maybe it's the dumb shit I can't explain. Maybe it's my past and demons and the similarities. Maybe it's just that I want to be held so damn tight so I don't potentially fall on my fucking face and splinter into a million pieces. Maybe I smoke too much. Maybe I resent the fuck outta the fact that my peace was ripped from me so thoroughly there's little chance to ever regain it and feel like it's home. Maybe it's that in a way I really have no home right now. Maybe it's the knowledge that if there are lies, I've already lost. Maybe I just need to kick someone's fucking ass. Maybe it's that I'm not use to winning, succeeding, making it, becoming more. Maybe I'm afraid I could fail one more damn time and truly find myself with nothing but broken dreams and scraps of shattered hopes. Maybe it's hormones or pre-menopause. Maybe I'm a little lost because the big push is over, and the slow less stressful push leaves me a little lost and aimless. Maybe I just want to be wanted with a viciousness that borders on criminal. Maybe I'm just sick to fucking death of stupid bitches being in my space. Maybe it's that I'm not eating right. Maybe I just miss being the one turned to. Maybe I wonder if I'm being left behind. Maybe I'm just jealous of fun stuff they get while I'm stuck in work and no play. Maybe I need fucked long and hard repeatedly until exhaustion takes me. Maybe I'm sick of stalkers and takers. Maybe I'm insecure as fuck. Maybe I'm just a violent, nasty, pissed off bitch that wants to rage at the world. Maybe I just flat out miss having some place, space, chance to be a little girl, a slut, and woman. Maybe I just need sunshine and Spring. Maybe I miss my Mustang. Maybe I hold too much value in being claimed absolutely and without question in every way possible in an age when everyone does there best not to be responsible or be vulnerable or be accountable. Maybe I just need out of these four walls. Maybe I need a big huge fire to rage like an inferno at my feet. Maybe I ache from hoping too much. Maybe I'm afraid of wanting too much outta this life. Maybe I just need to fly and crash to the Earth. Maybe I'm scared as fuck that I don't know what the fuck I'm doing or what, where, when, how the next few weeks are going to go. Maybe I just want to make sense of a crazy world. Maybe it's just that the music isn't fucking loud enough.
Maybe I just needed to write.
~K.
No comments:
Post a Comment