“I told you I’d spill my guts.
I left you to clean it up,
I’m bursting out of the….
Seems like now, it’s impossible to work this out.
I’m so committed to an old ghost town.
Is it really that strange if I always wanna change?
And if only – the time and space between us wasn’t lonely,
I’d disintegrate into a thousand pieces.
I think I’m making a mistake,
But if I decide to break, who will fill the empty space?
So now, if I figure this out,
Apart from my beating heart,
It’s a muscle, but it’s still not strong enough
To carry the weight of the choices I’ve made.
I told you I’d ride this out,
It’s getting harder every day somehow –
I’m bursting out of myself.”
I don’t have the energy to write these days. This sickness will not release me from it’s maddening grip.
I force negativity to make it move. Positivity. Sarcasm, belief, disbelief, and hope, but still nothing.
It begins to get depressing. To be weak, running a fever, short of breath, and feel faint if too much energy is exposed from myself. How can I be a housewife, a good wife, a daughter, a “mother”, a sister, a friend when I can’t even be enough to fill myself.
As nothing more than an empty shell trying to find it’s place in the world of vessels that are overflowing. There’s not competing with it. Not that I want to compete, I hope we all make it… at the same time I can see that I won’t.
If I could fill me up to the top, just once, I’d shatter in joy, real smiles all around. instead I’m stuck inside someone who’s not even enough for herself.
I fall to the bottom and crawl to an upright fetal position. It’s hard to hold the millions of tears behind my eyes. It’s hard to believe what people say even though I’m longing to be reassured in so many ways.
No amount of reassurance will break the insecurity that is me.
I want to be someone else. We all do. Why can’t we only be thankful for the life inside of the person that we are?
I’ll tell you why…
There is no “greener” side. All of the “yay” “pride” “tranquility” and “hope” that you see in another could be true for the moment, or the grass just may not have life in it’s cells. No roots to ground any blade, just shiny plastic of one of their faces that is presented.
What is commitment to anything? My marriage aside, each commitment I’ve made has ended up in a ditch of disappointment and emptiness.
These eyes have seen the sun through the window, only to burn in its contact. This heart has felt words of others impurities, and it longs for me to help others. Help animals. Help myself.