Me too.

The ending happens suddenly

Awakened from the blackout

He leaves and you are left—

Wondering, blaming, maybe even waiting

And him?

Still drunk off the night’s conquest

High fived from his boys for tapping that mess

Surrounded by crowds

While you’re left all alone

Looks of pity or a solid scold

He won.

It’s done.

There’s no use in speaking.

He will move on.

There will be another beginning.

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Poison

The alcohol running through our veins wasn’t enough fuel to keep us going.

Which sucks, because I miss you and even though I can still pour vodka down my throat—I’ll never be able to look into those deep blue, intoxicating eyes of yours as I do it.

But, toxicity can only last so long before you start to feel your insides decaying.

I just couldn’t help myself. You were drawing me in like a scented candle with your dangerous flame. A run from responsibilities, an escape from the world, a distraction from pain.

That’s exactly what you were—a distraction from pain, yet a source to it as well.

Making me feel both needed and unwanted, the cause to a tear jerking laugh and breathtaking sob in a single moment, both a heartwarming presence and a cold shoulder.

It’s the type of indulgence you can mistake for love, because you crave their good so desperately when you’ve experienced their bad. You mistake it for love, because you have found comfort in knowing someone is just as destructive as you are. You mistake it for love, because you have not yet learned what love really is.

I was mistaken, because even though you could make me the happiest—you could tear my heart to pieces in one second, with one word, with one look.

And you did, you always did.

I thought you were an escape from the dark world around me, until I started to realized my time with you was only adding onto the dimming view I used to perceive it.

When you’re in a toxic relationship, it’s difficult to see. It’s when others start to point it out for you that you try to alter your perspective. I looked myself in the mirror and managed to finally notice the wear and tear the relationship brought upon me.

I wanted to love you. I wanted to savor our relationship, but I also wanted to save myself from loving someone who could never properly love me in return. When I finally spoke my feelings out loud, the words felt like ash on my tongue. The fire we created was dying out and that’s all that was left of us—a pile of ashes and burns all over our skin.

I realized that a soul can’t be fixed by another that is in the same broken condition.

The poison only spreads.

That’s the thing though—people like us are used to pain. If anything, we embrace it. It’s the fuel that keeps us going. It’s the drive that takes us to our destinations. We mistake hurt for healing, breaking as building, suffocating as living and leaving for loving.

Maybe leaving you was the best influence I could be, because our impact when together was fueled with whiskey, cigarettes and loud music that wouldn’t allow us to think. We communicated through coping mechanisms, through escapes, through our pain.

I wish it wasn’t that way. I wish I could’ve helped you grow, because I knew you could. You can see so much potential in those you love, but it doesn’t mean you know how to help them reach it. I know you can do great things, but no longer can I hold myself back in attempt to make that happen.

Because, I’m still broken too. I need to heal too. Two people who know nothing of healing can not repair together. Two people with poison filling their veins and toxins steering their minds will only feed off of those addictions.

It sounds so deadly as I type the words, but in a way we were.

 

 

 

Drowning

I feel as if I’m drowning in a sea of needs. I am needed here and over there and right now and then. I am needed by you, by them, by us and by me. I need to do this and that and more or less.

The sea is endless and I’m hopelessly drowning in it, only to see the water is rising by the rain of a storm up ahead. A storm of my own making, but if I give in, if I just let the sea take me, I start to witness it mellow out. The storm starts to clear and the waves aren’t as harsh and my arms aren’t as weak.

I can keep trying to swim my way out of this mess, but this mess is my life. In my life I am needed, by clients and friends and family and myself and even though it is overwhelming…I’d rather it be that than the contrary, which is underwhelmed.

The drowning is what makes us stronger. The harsh impact of waves gusting by us, causing water to fill our noses and hit our face is what reminds us we are alive in the first place. As relaxing as it is to take a break, to give into the waves and float for a while, it’s also necessary to fight back.

You tread water, make your way through the storm instead of finding a way to end it, so that when the next one passes you’re much more prepared. I will fight through this. If not for myself, then for those who need me. I’ll make it passed the storm and safely float my way until the next one hits.

 

Unedited

I have a difficult time editing anything I write. It’s probably why I’ll never become a popular writer. My words are always meant for me and only me to fully understand. It’s because when I read them, my mind captures the moments I’m trying to create. I already have everything outlined and detailed in my head so that I don’t necessarily have to do it as I write everything down in front of me.

When words and stories are edited, they become generalized. They become conformed to be accepted and understood by the public. I guess I’ve always been kind of a rebel. You can look at my collection of felonies and misdemeanors. I don’t follow the trends all too well. When someone tells me what to do and how to do it and I’ll achieve great things by following these steps, I’ll take like 10 steps back. Then I’ll do some twists and turns until I wind up in a completely different place and a loss of memory as to what I was trying to accomplish in the first place.

I’ve been trying to write a book. Well, 3 actually. I’ve been trying to write a book for years now and only recently have I seen any kind of chance for one to be completed. It makes me nervous. Like, what am I going to do to stray off course this time?

It’s already proving to be difficult. Going back to a story that reminds you of all the things you have left behind…That is what writers do. They relive all of their moment. Again and again and again. With those moments comes all of those feelings–the anxiety and pain and love and desire. I’ve already managed to get it down on paper once, editing only makes it that much more difficult. I don’t want to feel it all over again.

Change of heart

I can’t even write about you. That’s when you know it’s bad. When the story I’ve been working on for years, suddenly seems like trash because it’s written about you.

You and your inconsiderate heart, me and my vulnerable soul.

That’s what this story seems to be about.

But, I can’t keep playing the victim. I chose to be broken by you. I searched for someone like you, to release all of the demons I had hiding so deeply within me.

So, I feel like this story may have changed its purpose in my life. No longer am I romanticizing you and our crazy, reckless, inconsistent love. It is a story of a girl and boy who broke each other and could never be the same again.

Please don’t be a season

Please don’t be a season.

Don’t be a fallen leaf in Autumn that slowly dies as it hits the pavement.

Don’t be the touch of snow on skin that quickly melts away in Winter.

Don’t be the rainbow after rain, hiding behind clouds of grey in Spring.

Don’t be warm beach days, fresh green grass and bright sunny rays that pass by as quickly as time does in the Summer.

You’re not allowed to come in and out of my life like the weather.

I want you for years to come.

I want you like the comfort of sitting down after every long day, knowing it’s a luxury whether on the floor or a coushioned chair.

I want you like the tattoo on the bottom of my neck, wearing out from too much sun exposure, but always holding meaning within my skin.

I want you like the memories written in books passed down for generations– causing stories to be diluted, but still partaking in history.

I want you like all of my body, maybe growing weaker as I get older, but always remaining, always trying, still working after so much vulnerability.

You are not just a season to me, you are a year. A year full of life, memories, sunshine, rainy days, snow fall and golden brown leaves on the ground.

Please don’t just be another season.

Selfish

You can’t be happy for me. It’s called being selfish. You miss me in your life only because you’re lonely, only because it has changed for the worst for you. I’m happy. Understand I’ve made the right decision for me and if you did the same to me then I would understand. Some people don’t help us grow. Some people damage us when we try to hold onto them. My grip was so tightly wrapped around you and you had no idea. You didn’t feel me. You didn’t even fucking notice. It wasn’t until I let go when you felt some kind of loss. You took advantage of my love and the worst thing is you didn’t even know it. At least if you knew the extent at which I tried, it would’ve been easier. You didn’t even know, because you didn’t even care. And now you look at me, anger filling your light blue eyes. I hope you know I’m used to that face. Filled with anger when you see me. I’m used to disappointing you and pissing you off because your emotions were so easily angered. It’s called being selfish. Because when I don’t care to your needs, you get pissed off. You challenged our friendship so often because you didn’t fucking care. You hurt me without knowing and maybe that’s my own fault, but I thought I made it obvious. I thought all the times I stood by you for hours watching you mix, or being the only one to dance at your shows, or convincing your girlfriend to stay, or trying my hardest to hold back my true feelings would make it obvious. It may be my own fault, but it doesn’t mean I have to stay and continue to deal with those consequences. You’re hurt because I left. You’re hurt because I couldn’t be in a friendship where only I tried and you gave no shits. I’m sorry for saving my energy. I’m sorry for saving my time. I’m sorry for finally putting myself over you. I should’ve never pretended like I was okay. I should’ve never acted like I wasn’t suffering. I was. Now you know and you’re mad. Fuck you. I didn’t mean shit to you. Stop acting like I did.