Put away all of the church. All of the regret. Put away all your ideas, your climbing imagination. Throw out misconceptions, the clothes you’re supposed to wear. Put away what’s around you and the sound of wanting for yourself. And focus on the love without veils between you and your friend who is the highest of highest on high.
Nothing ever changes but I always feel like I have to be going.
Move on, get better, take steps and make sure that they’re showing.
But I am still myself.
I like abstract ideas more than I like reality.
Not as much how things actually are – but in my head – how they’re supposed to be.
When I look out at my imagined timeline I see an open future of daydreams and hope, but I don’t think about the fact that I’d have to carry myself there, like a backpack of stones,
I’d have to bring these spinning atoms, these empty doubts, these worn out bones.
I am still myself.
Sometimes I manage to get rid of it all,
all the fear and failure, every sadness, every fall
I rinse it away with new water, leave it behind in black footprints that I forget even were mine,
but then I learn the same things every time.
And in between I hide in the songs that make me wish you’d pity me,
I shut myself in and dream of being seen.
I’ll glare at you but you won’t see it because in comparison to my heart my voice will always be lesser,
because I am a hopeless people pleaser and I walk in pink hair and cute dresses.
And that’s the drawn out prelude of the end, because I am a ticking bomb,
but it’s all internal so it will never unfold.
I just have an itching soul with nowhere to explode.
I’ll slam my fists against stone cold floors because you were supposed to make me better.
You were supposed to fix me.
If you want me. You better make me better.
Still. After this, after all. I am still myself.
If you want to know why I run like this
It’s because I have fear dripping out through my fingertips.
The first time I saw you guys, one of you wore these really short shorts and cowboy boots, and that’s not why I noticed you (it’s really not, shut up), but because who I’d guess is your girlfriend was sitting a few metres away from me, overlooking the sea, and you were making these weird poses trying to get the perfect photo of her. You were some of those real life tumblr persons in a city in Florida where everyone is over 60.
The next time I saw you, we were waiting for the bus by a famous beach, and you told us it’s okay, the bus here is always late. We thought we’d missed it and planned to walk back to the base. Thank you. My friend spoke to you, about how we always move in groups, the students from my DTS, and how everything looks like a cute field trip. You seemed nice, funny and sweet in that sort of self conscious way that’s relatable. And you seem happy together. I like your clothes. You were the center of different universes standing next to us, I hope you have good passions and places and people.
Bad days build better days
Bad days build better days Bad Days Build Better Days BAD DAYS BUILD BETTER DAYS
I did ask you to break my heart.
The headline sounds like this could be a poem, but it’s the story of how I walked into a wall. I found it in my old notes and thought I’d share it. So, sometime during the summer of 2015: