It’s such a strange feeling. A longing to do something yet no desire to initiate action. I feel so desolate but accomplished, worthless but valued, broken but all the pieces are here… Broken… Am I broken?
Every day is revolutionary and hindered in my insecurities. I set out as aimless as the blind archer quivering as he draws from his quiver. Launched into the world my mind is empty as a flask laid down as I zip through the fog. No targets. No destination. My plans are as lost as I am and despite my contentment, I am in a panic.
I can’t help but to hate myself. I suddenly have lost my introversion as my inner extrovert has been unleashed. Behind my walls, alone in the darkness or the light, I become my worst critic and enemy. So harsh on myself for the little things here and there, for the mess my apartment is in, for the frustration I feel with this blank stare. The reflection is so pale. So dismal. So fucking clueless.
I would like take a moment to not only apologize as I frequently do, but to thank you again for your eyes and your support. I can only imagine the look of my readers and those who know me outside of my writing wondering when this self loathing piece of shit will stop for once and smell the roses again. After all, it takes fertilizer for the roses to grow. I unserstand that I should get a grip, and a life, and a breath mint at least, but there is still so much that doesn’t make sense. The mood swings and complacency are still here and those footprints you read about on your grandmothers’ painting in the living room are walking on this doormat again. The sand is kicked away as I hold firm to the ground. Some things never change.
If I could fix this I would. If only when I shaved my head I could peel away the flesh and bone as well to tweak and trim away the nervous thing inside. I dream of extracting this version of myself like one of those pimple popping videos people love so much. The oozing mess would bare my reflection in a jiggly puddle and pour itself down the drain as I finally took a sigh of relief. I wish I made sense. I wish I could keep my security longer than a few weeks but over time the thread of that blanket becomes so tattered that it unravels. When I laugh and joke around I feel so fake. I feel like I become the very hypocrite that I gag on, choking as garbage filters into my newsfeed. I never meant to be a grouch, but here I am.
So in returning to that aforementioned thank you, I really appreciate your time. You have so many other things to do yet you manage to make it through these poems and problems each time. I may not always be grammatically correct or even politically or socially for that matter, but I am still learning that there is no right answer to anything. I hope if you struggle that I help you and if not that you find a place in your heart to feel for those who do. If you are reading or hearing this, I consider you my friend. Thank you for putting up with me.