She went looking for Trash...
What she found was gold.
I have been lost. Treading water. Weaving in and out of loneliness and regret. I have been solid. Passionless. Full of love. Drowning in confusion. Pregnant with self-loathing and happiness. And after three hundred and eighty some odd days (or something like that), I can honestly say that I am okay. And I can believe it.
Determined and ruthless. I know that the choice I have made cannot be wrong. I am not dying to be anywhere that is not home. Completely content with my desolation. And my lack of interest in being adored. I have no urgency to be understood.
I feel I have spent my whole life somewhat detached. I am lucid and yet complex in my desires and in love. I am okay.
I know that I gave what I had to give. Twisted and blinded by what I wanted to be, I was torn away from a simple actuality. We will all be vulnerable. I was a weak monster. A stranger in these fun house mirrors. A carnival act. As often as I screamed "that's not me", I couldn't remember who I had been. It seems like a lifetime spent on wanting what I never needed. But it was never a waste of time.
Over coffee he joked that I needed to have my heart broken. To know how to feel? To let me know that I can be fragile. I can be human. To ease the numbness. And break down the cellar door. I like the cellar door. I decided to put it back and keep it. After I had my heart broken.
Every day I feel a little stronger. A tiny bit more like myself than I was the day before yesterday. My delusions have become scarce. My fantasies almost non-existent. I have found my frequent sobriety more of a virtue than a pain. I have re-discovered that trying in some cases is not worth the effort. That I can be satisfied alone. That being overly attached and cheap in your emotions is in no way admirable. That tears are not worth your time.
I've earned my rage back. I pulled my head out of the clouds. I am collecting small amounts of joy and have thrown out my shame. Still working hard at treading this water, the surf is becoming more calm as the sun strips the black sky. I can stand solitary, but surrounded by my triumph, I am not empty.
A small flame of soul flickers through my sanity, untouched by this lawless disaster. And I know now... that I am okay.
Untouchable, and okay.
I have been lost. Treading water. Weaving in and out of loneliness and regret. I have been solid. Passionless. Full of love. Drowning in confusion. Pregnant with self-loathing and happiness. And after three hundred and eighty some odd days (or something like that), I can honestly say that I am okay. And I can believe it.
Determined and ruthless. I know that the choice I have made cannot be wrong. I am not dying to be anywhere that is not home. Completely content with my desolation. And my lack of interest in being adored. I have no urgency to be understood.
I feel I have spent my whole life somewhat detached. I am lucid and yet complex in my desires and in love. I am okay.
I know that I gave what I had to give. Twisted and blinded by what I wanted to be, I was torn away from a simple actuality. We will all be vulnerable. I was a weak monster. A stranger in these fun house mirrors. A carnival act. As often as I screamed "that's not me", I couldn't remember who I had been. It seems like a lifetime spent on wanting what I never needed. But it was never a waste of time.
Over coffee he joked that I needed to have my heart broken. To know how to feel? To let me know that I can be fragile. I can be human. To ease the numbness. And break down the cellar door. I like the cellar door. I decided to put it back and keep it. After I had my heart broken.
Every day I feel a little stronger. A tiny bit more like myself than I was the day before yesterday. My delusions have become scarce. My fantasies almost non-existent. I have found my frequent sobriety more of a virtue than a pain. I have re-discovered that trying in some cases is not worth the effort. That I can be satisfied alone. That being overly attached and cheap in your emotions is in no way admirable. That tears are not worth your time.
I've earned my rage back. I pulled my head out of the clouds. I am collecting small amounts of joy and have thrown out my shame. Still working hard at treading this water, the surf is becoming more calm as the sun strips the black sky. I can stand solitary, but surrounded by my triumph, I am not empty.
A small flame of soul flickers through my sanity, untouched by this lawless disaster. And I know now... that I am okay.
Untouchable, and okay.