Saturday, April 25, 2015

I haven't been able to decide if all the thoughts that have been plaguing me lately are supposed to be telling me something, or if they're just there to mess with my head. I can't decide what my heart feels or why my stomach knots, why some small little voice in the back of my mind says, "Tread lightly," and another one has been buzzing around in a mad effort to plan carefully.

It makes sense; I've always been very time- and date-oriented. I'm generally good at staying a step ahead of people, and working around obstacles I know might arise. Things I'm not expecting, however, are more tricky to deal with.
But it's all a matter of how you look at it.

We're face to face
but we don't see eye to eye.




Friday, April 24, 2015

I'm just a problem that doesn't wanna be solved.
I speak fast and I'm not gonna repeat myself, no. 
So listen carefully to every word I say: 
"I'm the only one who's gonna get away with making excuses today."
When I said that I'd return to you I meant more like a relapse,
Now and again I think "His and her's", "For better or worse".
But the only ring I want buried with me are the ones around my eyes.

Thursday, April 23, 2015

You let me win,
You let me ride
You let me rock
You let me slide
And when they lookin'
You let me hide.


Defend my honor
Protect my pride.
The good advice
I always hated
But looking back
It made me greater.


You always told me
Forget the haters
Just get my money,
Just get my weight up.
Know when I'm lying,
Know when I'm crying
It's like you got it
Down to a science.



 You were the only one who ever seemed to understand me, even often before I spoke. You used to make massively profound statements in small, quiet ways. You challenged me, you encouraged me, you made me feel secure and yet so dangerously curious. You were the riddle I couldn't solve, and the mystery I was desperate to uncover. Like most people, you didn't always quite grasp my sense of humor, but you picked up on all the other smaller things that ultimately meant so much more to me than the laughter, something that time has a funny way of scrubbing from the face of any relationship.

Eventually the jokes run dry, the teasing gets old, and the laughter fades.

And when the dust settled, I wanted it to be you who--offering a stretched out hand--pulled me back onto my feet.


But instead, yours were the hands that pushed me down.


And yet here I am, still feeling my muscles tense at the thought of pouncing on the opportunity to forgive you.


Tuesday, April 21, 2015

Fall Out Boy

Nostalgia has set in.






It Was Just How You Looked in The Light.

Why don't people understand my sense of humor? Why can't they process how thoughts leap through my mind with the gracefulness of a ballerina?


Over the past year, it's become a struggle to continually contrast myself against people whose humor lurks in the dark shadows of things that neither make me laugh nor should really be laughed at.

Unless those people can make me understand them, help me make the connection between them and their sick sense of humor. Help me relate, so at least half of us can.
What's so difficult about comprehending what someone finds interesting, amusing, or completely mind-blowing? You don't have to feel the same way, of course, but to be able to truly understand people, you have to be able to get on their level.

Maybe that's the problem.
We're on the wrong level.
All kinds of incompatible levels,
and I'm not willing to drop down.

Part of me wants to believe it's because you showed up--completely out of the blue, just as I had been expecting. Maybe it's because I'm once again comparing apples to bananas, da Vinci to van Gogh. And this wasn't even the real thing, it was just a pulse of energy through empty airspace that almost brought me to pieces. And I know now that anything more than that would destroy me, just as I've always suspected it would. Because your first never leaves, but sticks around to haunt and make the band-aids keep falling off.

There's a reason I'm being held back from what I want more than anything, from the thing that personifies the self-destruction I so carefully have to be lead away from. 

Sunday, April 19, 2015

"The opposite of love isn't hate,
it's indifference."

If Only You Could See It From My Perspective

It's a slow process that as I get older day by day, I also realize how valuable my parents are. I don't know if it's the "female" in me, or just a result of growing up into a reasonably okay almost-adult. But a huge part of me, especially lately, has become immensely driven to respect them and make them proud. Even if I don't always understand why or how their reasoning works; I trust them enough to help me make decisions.

They don't really make decisions for me anymore; they can't, really. But I'll be the first to admit that most of the time I have absolutely no idea what I'm doing, and getting their input and advice helps me build a foundation to at least leap off of as I plunge into the unknown. It also steers me clear of an unwanted issues or repercussions that result from poor, impatient, or ill-thought out decision making.

With that said, it dawned on me earlier this morning how interesting relationships with other people are. The difference between a relationship with your parents and one with someone who's not family is vast, and sometimes frightening. We're talking a respective "I hardly ever see or talk to you, but I somehow know when something is bothering you" to a "I see you often and talk to you every day, I know your favorite color and can often read your mind, but the connection between us is broader than the Mississippi River."

Is it all in my head, this gaping expanse? Or have you been building a rickety bridge from your own scrap material just to try and reach me?
The funny thing about bridges is: you need support columns to make it to the other side.
Support columns that listen & absorb. That understand and can relate, not just emotionlessly file fact after fact away before moving on to the next subject revolving around yourself.