Why is it,

when life is mundane

everything goes according to plan?

But the second I have responsibilities,

I'm met with inconveniences.

It just feels like a sick, cosmic joke.

Maybe my writing is just for me,

but I hope that someone can read it

and relate to the thoughts that run rampant through my mind

on a daily basis.

The joy,

the insecurity,

the fear,

the calm and peace.

I hope there is something about my writing

that sparks kindship in someone

because if not,

that must mean that I am truly alone.

I have always been told to listen,

not to make things about me.

So I dig deeper into people,

ask questions to truly get to know them.

But I sometimes crave

reciprocity.

For someone to ask the questions I pose back.

To have someone want to get to the core of me

and see all the things that have gone undiscovered by so many others.

The anticipation

is killing me.

Not the good kind,

Where your stomach fills

with dancing butterflies.

Where your head is filled

with hope and joy.

Where all you want

is to fast forward

and get to where you want to be.

No.

I have the bad kind,

The kind that puts your stomach in knots.

The kind where your head is filled

to the brim with noise.

The kind that makes you want to dig your heels into the ground,

begging

for time to stop.

That's the kind

of anticipation

I have.

And I pray to God

that I have the strength

to make it through.

I don’t want

To always be

The one who makes the first move.

I want someone else to be the one

Who steps up

And puts their feelings out there.

Not in a text.

Not through a friend.

Instead,

I want to be told to my face

That they like me.

That they want to see me.

That they want to hang out with me.

People always put me in positions

To be the one that puts my heart on the line.

They want me to do the work,

The heavy lifting

So that they can claim the prize.

But

Just once

I want someone to lay it all on the line for me.

When it comes to relationships,

I feel royally fucked.

I somehow got it in my head

That every man

Will be like my father.

That they will get angry.

So angry, that the yelling will make me go silent.

That his hands will make fists that pound the walls around me.

Startling me.

Scaring me.

Causing me to hide away until the storm has passed.

And sometimes

I worry

That I will be the one like my father.

Do I have regrets

That we aren't together anymore?

No.

To have regrets

Would imply that I didn't try

When I was the only one who did.

I've always to have a surprise party.

A day planned out for me.

Not one that goes by like just another day.

I don't want to share my birthday

With someone who doesn't even like me

Just because the days are close

And just cuz it's convenient.

I want to feel appreciated

And loved by those around me

I want them to think

"Let's throw her a suprise birthday party"

without any prompting

Is it mean

If I secretly hope

You fail?

Don’t get me wrong,

I’m proud of you regardless,

But part of me wishes

You’d fail.

You put yourself on this pedestal

And constantly preach

How much better you are at everything.

How you don’t need to study

How you don’t need to work on yourself

How you don’t need anyone’s help.

So yes,

Maybe I’m the bad guy

Maybe I’m the villain

But I hope you fail

So you can see

That you’re not all that different

From me