i forget a lot of the time

that i was in love with you

it's become a story

it's become a heartbreak

worst of all, it's become a joke

it's easy to forget

when i act like i already have

when i pretend it's whatever

i don't really think of you anymore

what a fucking lie

i accidentally remembered

how much i loved you

and how blindly you cut me

how much i have wished to hate you

to have an ounce of self respect

selfish and self loathing girl

it's not really that funny is it?

it's not funny

One time, I read this brilliant short story about a beautiful tightrope walker,

a sad and hopeful clown, and a seemingly confident lion tamer.

It became one of my favorites from the very first sentence.

I often think about the story, even if I can't remember the exact words.

You know, I must say,

I find this situation laughably ironic; the better people feel,

the less they book sessions,

the better and crappier I feel.

Better because it is one less burden to carry on my shoulders and my psyche.

Crappier because of the other burdens that appear from a lack of cash.

You see, you may not know this, so I will fill in the blanks:

my "career" thrives and feeds on futile attempts to assuage human misery.

Quite literally, the more miserable a person is and the more tears they have,

the more they want to talk to us.

I've heard more prayers, wishes, sins,

confessions, than mosts priests will hear inside their cold church walls.

I was told once that during more difficult sessions, my voice sounds

like that of a person who wants to calm a frightened horse;

soothing, quiet, bringing comfort where I can. But little do they know

my hands shake nonstop with frustration

as I take on these people's prayers, wishes, sins,

and endlessly repetitive confessions as my own.

And every time I crack a joke to make them laugh, it is because I spend

an hour every day running as fast as I can until my lungs hurt just so I

don't think about their voices on a loop by the time the night falls.

You see, so and so, your feelings are valid. Your (or their) behavior is not.

Yes, you have the right to feel like you (sure as Hell) deserve more.

No, I do not believe that any kind of (Christian) God

made this happen in order to test your faith.

You've got nothing to prove by not letting go.

But they don't believe it. For many obvious reasons, they rarely do.

You see, they smile, they nod, they say they've understood, they've learned,

they're now changed men and women, they now know exactly how not to be fooled

by the shitloads of social and emotional predators they "formerly" chose to indulge.

And the next time they book a session with me,

it is nine times out of ten because they have fallen back

into the same patterns we struggled to untangle the time before that.

And the time before that--

well, no,

it was more or less the same thing.

And I end it thinking to myself,

"I don't care. I really do could not care less by this point."

But I don't believe it. For obvious reasons, I do not.

You see, I smile. I nod. I say I've understood, I've learned,

and I'm now a changed me, and now I know exactly how to cope,

how to not over-invest in or care about these bleeding hearts more than I should.

And the next time they book a session with me,

nine times out of ten I will repeat myself. I will listen.

(If appropriate) I'll try to make them laugh.

I will give them much-needed tough love.

And after all that, I will stare at the screen,

wishing I could stand up, walk through that door,

and travel for miles on end carrying just the one story in my head

about the beautiful and maddening tightrope walker,

the well-intended but pathetic clown,

and the overcompensating

lion tamer.

"and no, I'm not angry, / I think that I'm just feeling sore / 'cause the truth is that you just don't like me that much anymore"

I Just Don't Think That You Like Me That Much Anymore - Leith Ross

I guess it's just that I wanted you. I wanted you so bad I thought I would cry from the feeling. It was a weird juxtaposition -- sitting in your humid room, making small talk, listening to the a.c. hum -- but inside I was dying.

I guess it's just that I wanted you. I don't want people. I don't think I've ever wanted anyone. But I wanted you.

Not just for the touch, of course. I wanted to go to the farmer's market with you. I wanted to share an umbrella and buy a big container of strawberries. I wanted to have a little life with you for the three months we were blessed with. I wanted to fall asleep on your shoulder as our friends began to leave the party. I wanted you to be my person, the one I was always with, the one who got in the car no matter where we were going. I wanted you to tell me I was beautiful. I wanted to eat family dinner at your house, and help you walk your dog, to play music with your dad, to listen to all your favorite songs. I wanted to go to museums. I wanted to hold your hand.

I wanted someone to want me. Willingly, earnestly, with a pink blush intensity -- all consuming and beautiful -- and I thought you did. Wanted me, that is. I'm not sure why I thought that, though. I spent half the time begging for your attention, and the other half crying that you wouldn't see me. Leaving split my chest in two. I honestly hope you don't care. It would help it all make sense a bit more.

The day after the breakup (can I even call it that? We were hardly together) I went with my photography class to Coney Island and saw the ocean and thought I would drown in the sheer vastness of it. It was so hot that I could watch the sunburn spread across my arms. I wanted to bottle that day. I wanted to breathe the sea air for every second of the rest of my life. I thought I could live on that boardwalk forever, above one of the little stores, and never go anywhere else.

I wonder if you'll ever get your disposable camera developed. We both bought one. I took all those pictures of you, and I think there might be a couple of me on yours. If you do get it developed -- a few years down the line, maybe at your college darkroom -- and it brings you back to that beautiful April evening, send the pictures to me. I would give anything to go back there, to watch you laugh and eat ice cream in an empty Chelsea Market; when we only just started to run out of time; before I fell for you.

In chaos flourishes light, or at least that's what they say

I waited for ages for my hope to grace my life and beside me lay

What they fail to tell you dear child, with bitterness, with you I share

The lungs that breathed rancidness for too long, will no longer favor the clean air

The heart that shattered millions of times for someone

Can no longer beat in fullness no matter how fast you run

The hands that knew not the taste of touch

Will forever sink in fear bound by grudge

The eyes that lurked in darkness blind to the warmth of light

Like a vampire will perish under the sun bright

And when hope finally graces your doorsteps, my child, your bliss turns to a curse

The years of darkness leave behind wounds, un-healing, ever in pain like ravaging wars

The calmness of peace becomes a stranger in whom you have no faith

If peace were to be a religion, how gloriously in heresy I shall bathe

For my blood speaks not the language of calmness

And neither shall yours when all you knew were tempestuous nights, Unless

You let go of the pain, and start to breathe once again

Let the air fill your lungs and penetrate deep breaking every chain

Allow a space for the light to lighten the shades of darkness within

For you, my child, are so much more than your original sin.

There was grief,

there's always grief,

before the storm. Like some sort of deep internal brewing, the painful gasping of air before the breath turns hot with emotion.

First, the grief.

Of course, we already mentioned that.

Then we might part ways, like on a narrow bridge of sadness and in our temptation, turn back to the wider bridge of anger so as to flaunt about our lack of successions.

Fear that the anger will be met with no resistance turns up the volume, spreading out the hopeless rakes of unending wanton for the life just barely out of reach.

There's the person at fault,

the supervisor,

the supervisor above the supervisor,

and then their committee.

All deaf ears.

And so I turn, turn backs on them and go on up the latter. Further up to committees, then attorneys try to worm their way in and I'm not interested. No. I want my voice heard. I don't want money. I want what I came and paid for, what my people paid for and what they expected I would receive. A service, no, not lip service. Real fucking service. Not some crumb excuse that I failed on my end, we already know that. I know that, the records know that, and you damn well fucking know that the very same. Insipidus snake. Damn your fucking 'research' and systems alike! There's no accountability! Damn that all and that bullshit timeline you gave to me.

I am tired, roused up by my anger to overcome my sorrows and vulnerabilities and I demand countenance or lest my anger wave you from my way as I move on further.

No, no leeches will attach to me. No lawyers, no mob of angry citizens, no news casters or journalists. Just me, me and me alone so you can feel discomfort in my plight. So you can squirm and wriggle at the immensity of my contempt rather than feeling ample motive to discount my motives by some faceless mob so as to hide and victimize yourself. No. I am angry, very so, and in your face. Feel the intensity of my fire, burn within its wake.

And

~~~

Beating beneath this brimmed breast,

lies a soul within this tangled chest.

Crying out not for the sword of stone,

learning to bury the bastard bone.

Flights overhead cast in the wind,

trees tremble with the voice within.

Bringing truth to the table of choice,

will ignorance bleed out your precious voice?

Tasting the fury of what we can give,

saving the blind that forget how to live.

Forgotten memories of what is right;

Only you can change in the dark of the night.

~ Miss Riddle

I will never be able to love God in a way that matters

and I am continually distracted

even by small things

like a stomach ache or a bad mood

which cause me to veer so far off course

that I wonder if I even believed in salvation in the first place

and so with a complaining heart, I began again to beg for something

that I didn't even understand

"Strengthened faith"

sort of an all-in-one blessing.

When the whole time

Jesus is still the resurrected savior

God is sovereignty

and Love has saved me.

What else do I need?

It is frustrating being so emotionally attached to desires.

Takes time I guess

telling me that nothing

in life is as important as whoever

they think is in my bed.

bells, they ask for

names and dates

for my friend who's

getting married in a year.

and nothing i do is

interesting enough

to warrant a sentence.

never growing any taller,

it's past me now,

but i feel smaller than ever

in a sea of blinking eyes

asking

about something and

somebody else,

is this the rest of my life?

to never be in the center,

but always cast aside

for a more romantic lead?

failure, spectacular,

nothing at all

interesting enough

to warrant a sentence.

like bare feet in wet sand,

left out in the sun and never allowed

in the lake water, just simmering

on the shore, because you're only

half.

half of nothing at all.

You never said goodbye,

because you never knew you left.

I’ve always said it’s okay.

It's okay I haven't seen you

for the last twenty-seven birthdays.

It's okay I never got to share

my first womanhood moment with you.

It's okay I had to figure out

how to pick my first bra.

It's okay you weren’t

at my high school

or college graduation.

It's okay that you never

met my boyfriend

turned fiance,

now husband.

It’s okay that I never got to show you

my first house

that we spent our life savings

to purchase.

And if you don't see

our next adventure.

It's okay

because I forgive you.

I know you couldn't help it

and you’ll continue to love me.

because

I remember you as you were

before your diagnosis—

and It’s okay.

Those memories

will never disappear

from my life

as you have

and that's how I know

It will be okay.

He doesn't respect me. I guess I should have seen it, yet I'm still so conflicted. I have the tendency to fall pretty hard, as anyone who has followed me for a while knows about me. I just like people too much maybe? But, I've gotta stop blaming myself. I have to stop blaming myself, this isn't my fault. This is his. I have to say it. At least somewhere. Even if I don't hit publish. I have to say what I feel before it consumes me. I like the man for his morality. He has a very high moral compass, and I enjoy that. I don't feel like I am with a boy anymore. Not a boy, not in a creepy way (I'm also a very heavy consumer of YouTube content and the Colleen Ballinger child grooming Situation (and her stupid ass song) is deeply rooted in my head right now.) I like that I felt like I could've been with someone mature enough to handle the absolute emotional rollercoaster that I am on. I liked that I didn't feel alone. That's why we all fall, right? We just want to not be alone.

When I get down to it, I understand. In many ways, I really do understand. I think we both want the other to be what we envision. It's hard to love someone for who they are when you don't know them I guess. It's hard to know someone from so far and so quick. I do believe in love at first sight but in a sort of future-vision sort of way... You see the person and your whole life together feels mapped out and the thought of not springing on the moment will leave you with such a deep scar of regret for the rest of your life. I do want to have that, even though I feel like I've reached Tina Belcher status with how many men... boys I guess... I have felt it for. I still maintain that 87% off them weren't terrible. We just weren't compatible.

This is a lack of compatibility. He doesn't emote which is fine. I don't care because that's how I deal with people who don't emote. I have to "not care" which is my way of just accepting that's someone's boundary. I don't want to cross boundaries because I feel the need to know what is inside someone's head. However, with all the trust issues and anxiety within me, it's hard to not... think. And think. And think. Like I said, the man deals with me and my anxiety well, but I'm not sure what he thought was under the anxiety, you know? Just like I have no idea what's beneath the stoicism, I think the little bits of skin I have peeled back have not been expected.

I'm not disgustingly religious, but I am a Christian and have no shame. Well, I have like Catholic schoolboy who is thirteen and just starting to fight the thirty-year battle of the hormones shame. Pretty much everything in this world makes me feel embarrassed or ashamed because I just always feel that way. I don't know man. I've been awake since 5 and I'm just ranting. We may be on deliriousness. I'm not sure. Anyway, I'm not ashamed of my relationship with God and I know that between having a human on this earth for a blip in the cosmic timeline or aligning with the creator of the cosmic timeline... I mean come on, that's like choosing between a single ant and an elephant as a war animal. I don't know what that means. Don't judge me. I'm just saying, I enjoy my faith and enjoy sharing it with those that are comfortable with it, and am very open and respectful of people who are not receptive because why waste the good word on people not wanting to receive it? Plant the seed and move on. The Bible says that, go look.

I have not been feeling the fire recently because the world is a cold place. It has been really hard to feel much of anything aside from crippling anxiety, existential sadness, and genuine shittiness. So, it was a relief to feel the Holy Spirit moving again, even though it feels like quickening at this point (google the term, I'm not doing an anatomy lesson right now) instead of a raging flame like before. Okay, maybe not raging, but healthy. I know the embers don't necessarily end, but like, it's there and it's comforting to feel the heat after so long in the cold. So, I mentioned it. I have a rather, spiritually traumatic past I guess. There's no real way to explain, so I'm not gonna. Just use your imagination.

Ugh, the gross and nerve-wracking idea of sending this to him is hitting and I just wanted to get it all out before I hit the wall of "maybe I should say something" but I know me. I don't want to hurt anyone. I don't like being mean. But like, it feels like I pulled the blanket off of Michael Jackson's baby and it looked like Quasimodo to him. That's the best way I can put it. All my interests seem to be boring or humorous to him even though they're things I like and am passionate about. It feels like disclosing details about the relationships with people I love (family and friends) like stupid things we staid or like memories are always met with criticism.

Maybe I'm just being too hard but, I don't know. We broke up technically, but I can tell he's trying and that makes me feel even sadder and less able to just spit out that Jesus Christ man maybe I don't like you like I thought I did. And I'm really sorry. I have a vision for my life. Not a wife and two and a half kids type vision, but one that shows me that I will know exactly the right person and I will never doubt that they are right. It's probably delusional to think that I will never not once doubt someone given who I am, but I just... This ain't it man. I want it to be it, but it's not. Maybe it will be like he clearly hopes for. The small slip of emotions showed me something I wanted to try to make work but for now, I guess I just need to work up the courage to say I feel disrespected just about... 78% of the time I share things and I feel like I want to just remain silent. Maybe it's not worth my time to do that but hey. I just, this is the process I guess. But yeah, opened the bottle. Now gotta clean up the volcano of pop that got all over my floor.