The Hardest Hearts are the Hardest to Mend

He set his stage careful,

with trust
and heart
and love.

I handed him my heart,

Locked tight, and

Guarded with care.

I handed him the key.

He drown it in gun powder
with rockets
and sparklers
and

Turned his back slow,

with a wink

and smirk
and

I panicked

and breathed,
soft,
to stop.

He lit me on fire.

But hope
and need
and trust,
kept me still.

The fuse ablaze
with slow motion
and fear
and intent

Eruption
BOOM.

My love rained down
random,

Fizzling before it hit the ground. 

I felt the reflection in my eyes

Die.

I watched my heart fade into

Countless pieces of shining blood.

He rejoiced. He laughed. He left.

That mother fucker. 

Living life like a foster kid. I don't know how to change. 

Forgiveness is not free. Why's this still surprising people. 

just try to see me

I am almost always on my own.

I have a lonely way about me. There is a distance in my conversation with others.  I bob and weave personal questions, only giving up vague information.  I disappear at parties on my own, sometimes don't say goodbye when leaving, and avoid eye contact for prolonged periods.  I might be forgettable. I don't intend such.  I was raised to project strength--to BE strong.  It is my weakness.

Takes a different kind of person to see me.  Time and effort are required to break through this stupid hardened shell that I cannot shed.  I play my cards close to my chest. I don't know how to just let people see me.  So many have been careless. They think I don't hurt. I suppose I know the reasoning.  Well, I still feel fucking crummy.

So annoying that it's basically my fault.

Runner's High

Brittle pink and pumping,
my poison darts.
Little veins throbbing,
tissue-roped remorse.

Sticky sins dissolving
past red paved pasts.
Crinkled confused cadence
pulsing a proper path.

Brilliant and burning,
fire under my feet.
Measured steady striding,
rhythmic solid beats.

Swaying and dancing
with muscled scars.
The high seducing
my sweet red heart.

I like sexy music. I like to put it on and dance in my underwear, on my tip-toes, as though I were a stripper with fish in my clear wedge heels.

That's something fairly key to who I am. Dancing. Something I LOVE. I don't think anyone understands to what degree I love such a thing. I don't know how to properly convey that, so. Being sexy. I love being sexy. I want to dress sexy and strip--or whatever is desired--for my man. I want sex, and I want it frequently.

Online Dating. I can't say any of that shit. I can't elude to sex, period. Not one bit. I can't let my overpowering sexuality be the initial attraction. I just. I can't. I need to meet someone more interested in me, rather than my face alone. HOW?!

I'm kind, sweet, loving. I am smart. I am so many things. I have so much to give. I want to enrich someone's life. I'm funny. Goofy, nerdy... some say cute, adorable even. I have so much to give, damn it.

I still want to fuck passionately to The Weeknd, WICKED GAMES, while you pull my hair and until we are drenched in sweat.

How am I supposed to convey both of these things and have them be treated accordingly?
I have no idea what I am doing.

I asked my best friend, the forever-optimist/romantic, "why don't I ever have a date?" 

"Because you haven't found him yet. His beard will be epic yadda yadda yadda."

Me: "False. It's because I stopped making things happen. I meet a guy, decide I want to date, and I make things happen. No one does romantical shit anymore. I do. I did. I stopped. I made everything happen in all my relationships. I don't foresee meeting someone I want to do that with again. It's exhausting."

This is the longest I've ever been single and it is much by choice. I mean, I would say yes to a date, but I've no offers for such--Plenty of men that want to fuck me, none, that I know of, that want to know me. And it's going to take time. I'm not knowable overnight. I refuse to do such by text anymore. I want a real relationship. I want someone with character. I want a partner.

I hope a date does happen, though. I mean, I don't really want to be single, but I don't want a relationship just for the sake of it. I don't like feeling lonely either.

Sucks. I'm always, forever, once again...

Just dried leaves, waiting on the wind.

Must find my way

past these festering

hateful habits

As they

spiral into

character flaws.

Standing helpless

memorizing every

move made.

Meticulous

self

manipulation,

Like cold

breezes on

snowy days.

Must make it past these days. 

-----------------------------

You mustn't repeat it in order to declare it a "lesson learned."

I wonder... Is everyone so moved by music? Not necessarily music, but lyrics. I am a sucker for good writing. 

Tears stream down my cheeks, hot, for a well wriitten song with heart. Even if I can't pull from experience, I emphathize with the sentiment. Is that common?

It's probably completely ordinary. 

I'm not looking, anticipating... I'm just waiting--as the rivers's waters move patiently with its current. 

I'm just waiting for someone to see me. 

And, I suppose growth is certain when you no longer need anyone to know that growth is certain. 

I won't have to tell "you"--"you" will just know. 

These are my exclaimations, proclamations, expectations... All of my aspirations. No more selling short; I'll give myself freely to the worthy. 

It happened to all of me.

I felt our walls come down–
we scrambled as they crumbled.
One-by-one they tumbled–
I clenched my heart as it trembled.

I heard the cards fall
into love like gravity,
as dreams in waters tall,
drown most of me.

I watched as you realize
rough dangers advancing.
Just as quickly your eyes
displaced our gazes chancing.

I smelled desire die–
suffocated in doubt.
My lips sealed in goodbye–
a sullen pout.

I tasted the burns
of my ashes twisting,
as rebirth evades
my tired mending.

It happened to all of me.

I let boys use and discard me like a cheap toy.  I let boys who don't care for me have me.  I've wondered for a long time, "Why do I do that? Why do I let people I don't care about walk all over me?"

I finally have my answer: I DON'T CARE ABOUT ME.

Why should they be any different?

My current place in life is as tumultuous as ever.  I'm forever in between, endlessly mending, and I never fail to put myself at a disadvantage.  I annoy myself with my predictable predicaments. It all comes down to self-worth.  I remember how the importance of self-esteem was pressed in junior high/high school.  We all laughed and made fun of their cliche tag lines–convinced of our invincibility (how cliche in itself). Come to find out, cliche is cliche for a reason. If all the lame greeting card phrases are still around, doesn't that mean something?  It's just a collection of advice from those who've lived it. They weren't always cliche.

I've just now realized that I've let so many people down... I'm recalling so much from so many strong women in my life... things they wanted for me, places they told me I could go, people they told me I could be. I grew up compassionate, loving, mothering, contemplative, complicated, defiant, strong/willed, stubborn, sweet, playful, honest and most importantly, FAIR.

But, I haven't been fair to me. Acceptance is the first step, eh?

I won't ever be perfect, but at least now I'm brave.

"Perhaps all those sappy slogans from preschool over to high school's groaning were tokens for holding the lonely at bay." Tanya Davis, How To Be Alone

It's not that I want to drive off a bridge... it's just that I think of these things happening. Driving off a bridge sounds terrible. I daydream/nightmare about tragedy happening to me nonstop, being stranded in a field full of tornadoes, tripping and falling down the stairs, running someone over, backing into cars, awful accidents, earthquakes, zombies, rape, etc.

I often think of them in the moment they might actually happen. It's very stressful.

A horrible aspect of being a worrier, I suppose.

How can I mean so much to so many, but nothing to myself?

I'm watching summer leave like it's my life.  The air cools and I sweat less, the leaves change and my tan fads, the grass dies and my heart aches.  I'll hide my face in scarves, and put away my bikini.  I'll bury my tears in cold, and warm them only when I sleep. Alone.

The sun no longer warms my soul.  I don't know how to say goodbye to this ridged girl.  I've got too much practice in repairing, too much mending. The walls I fear, are permanent.  I don't have the keys to the gate. I lost them or they were stolen. I can't make it one hour without tears. So fucking stupid. Such a stupid girl. I bring it upon myself although I claim to be okay. I've burned and reborn myself so often–the scar tissue is ugly and painful.  I think this burnout may be my last. I don't think I can take it again. My days as a phoenix are certainly numbered.

The weight of this year has left me hardened.  I don't want the burden of me anymore.  Why would anyone else?  If I'm going to make it, I have to fall in love with me.  I can't even look in the mirror.

"You're a force of nature."

Bullshit.