here is where i am coming from
so many things i have said before and so many times i close the window before i hit 'update journal'. things i can not share because they are things i can tell no one. there are things i feel and yet i feel i dont care to let others know i hurt for possible fear of further rejection. i feel a fool to book my pain down in such a visible manner for it would seem any of the world to view. though i am quite sure most do not even bother to scan entrys filed by my hand, i suppose i could do this mostly for what good, if any, it could possibly be to me.
feeling like an whore for things i have done to please, now obviously, various self serving men who i, at one point or another, believed for some still unknown reason that they could be special. that this man here, at this moment so close in my arms, during such a gratifying moment, maybe could be what i am lacking, so warm, complete.
for what could we do without these other missing pieces in our life? how could such absence of even a word, a whisper, really, shatter the feeling of completeness from something not even part of ourself. why would we need something so fickle and unfeeling as a man, when they only seem to fit so right in the dark of the night, with only the light of the moon to illuminate such a frenzied passion, such a beautiful thing is this coming together, such a cold feeling i am left with in the dark of my room, wondering at the folly of me.
everywhere i look i see pretense and blindness, but foolishness i usually only see in myself. but feelings in me match only things i can read blindly. i have followed a mislit path, and confusion sets in as clarity is no longer available to me. so i vow to not care and not let the disaffections of others hurt me so greatly, to try and not let this turn me into something i could not bear to become, and to not let these incidents destroy what faith i have left in mankind, if any.
feeling like an whore for things i have done to please, now obviously, various self serving men who i, at one point or another, believed for some still unknown reason that they could be special. that this man here, at this moment so close in my arms, during such a gratifying moment, maybe could be what i am lacking, so warm, complete.
for what could we do without these other missing pieces in our life? how could such absence of even a word, a whisper, really, shatter the feeling of completeness from something not even part of ourself. why would we need something so fickle and unfeeling as a man, when they only seem to fit so right in the dark of the night, with only the light of the moon to illuminate such a frenzied passion, such a beautiful thing is this coming together, such a cold feeling i am left with in the dark of my room, wondering at the folly of me.
everywhere i look i see pretense and blindness, but foolishness i usually only see in myself. but feelings in me match only things i can read blindly. i have followed a mislit path, and confusion sets in as clarity is no longer available to me. so i vow to not care and not let the disaffections of others hurt me so greatly, to try and not let this turn me into something i could not bear to become, and to not let these incidents destroy what faith i have left in mankind, if any.