I refuse. Being like this, a side effect of, well all the shit that’s occurred. You can run from the past, but you can’t jack off without it bursting through your girlfriend’s living room. You seen House? I don’t want to end up a miserable cunt who pushes people away, I don’t have anyone as it is. I want to be happy and have kids and throw rocks at pretentious teenagers for pissing on my lawn. Oh you’re having a birthday party, with your close BFFs and the cat that looks like Douglas Adams. No pets in the restaurant, unless it’s on your goddamned plate with a side of horseradish! SOMEBODY LOVE ME.
Redheads are a ward, a defensive incantation cast from pictures and words and what-ifs that keep my capacity to love from breaking under the maelstrom of its own superficiality. Blue-eyed devils, sweet voices, and gentle shadow. If that my heart were not so blind.
Don’t tell her she’s wonderful. Don’t say that the blues of her eyes encompass the whole of galaxies, a doorway to countless stars woven into near endless stories. Don’t let her know that the sight of her smile can breathe life into the living, unbreak hearts long shattered by the cruel hands of clockwork. Don’t repeat those three words, or any words, because no words could ever truly describe what she means to you. Don’t tell her.
She was beauty in a colorless world. Reds, blues, blonds, dancing vibrantly to the backdrop of a silent film orchestra. The angels gifted her a lovely name, truly, but such a thing was of little value. Her mere presence left mortals speechless, uncaring of the blase words which described it under the cloud of society.
Too many, but not enough. I can’t be that person anymore; he’s in too much pain, a hurt that only shoulders heavily onto my own. Relying on him wasn’t a mistake, he was strong at times, hopeful, alive. The mistake was thinking that he had a permanent place. A place in what, I never really knew to be honest.
For the world to change, there must be sacrifice. A sacrifice born of choice, else the ritual lacks meaning in the eyes of the soul.
Insecurity was always my strong suit. A suit that I utterly despise donning, but eerily comfortable and ready-to-wear at any flush moment. I’ve never gotten over the events that transpired, the rocket fire sent by this town and all towns. A four dimensional-attack so heavily inflicted, that my entire meaning from birth to death was near torn asunder. Bullets flew, ideals burned, children cried, at least if those children actually knew what they helped cause.
I want to escape myself, the person I’ve become, and the person I was and wasn’t. But how I can consciously fall back from a lifetime of war, one fought eternally on each and every front?
I can never seem to translate my thoughts into words. Well, the right words, right prose, et al. In the shower, I can break into fanciful soliloquy, a stream-of-conscious conflagration of “I’s” and “damns” and “if I weren’t such a’s..” that would make even the lowliest of emo poets weep. (Though I guess it wouldn’t really take much in their case) But once I sit down in front my e-typewriter and try to eternalize my feelings via clickety-clacks, all I ever get is… this.
I just realized something- I can never be Prince Charming, because I’m fucking Cinderella. Sittin’ in my torn leather pumpkin’, bathing in the caress of non-existent fairy godmothers (caffeine does crazy shit to ya), waiting for my shy, confident, enigmatic, wealthy-not-just-in-finances Princess to come save me. Preferably resembling (fuck that, mirroring) Taylor Swift in her “Love Story” outfit. But as most adults are already sadly aware, fairly tales don’t come true. Even less so for people who don’t truly deserve it. I need more coffee.
It seems like the only perceptions which matter are the ones belonging to the one who matters. Logic dictates and details, but emotion and pain trumps theory and fact.
I wasn’t good enough for her, not even close. Even though she’s unarguably lacking in intellect, compassion, and whatever else a good person should have, I still can’t can let her go. No, I can’t let go of her letting me go, so easily, but letting others so much worse hold on. The entire world could sing my name to tune, but it would mean nothing, because she didn’t care to participate.
