.An.Xi.E.Ty.

It’s tugging. It’s eating at me now. Slowly. Surely. I’m becoming more and more aware. I feel it gnawing at my feet and pulling my ear in every other direction. I feel it breathing down my neck. Never fully resting. Always so willing to escape. Always willing to run. Away. I feel the loneliness in it. I feel the overwhelming desire to reach the finish line. To breathe the freshness again. To be free. Right now. Right at this very moment. I feel restless. I feel insane. I feel saddened by everything. Emotions running high. Emotions riding low. Watch me fall apart. 

Feelings, I guess

I’m so angry. Maybe I want everyone else to be just as angry. I feel alone in all my loneliness. I want to sleep, but as soon as my head hits the pillow, I think of everything I shouldn’t be thinking of. I feel fat. I feel so self aware. It’s hard coming to the realization that I’m not likable. I usually don’t even like me. I feel really selfish and mean and spiteful. I’m so incredibly broken and I feel like at any moment now, I’ll just fall to pieces. I apologize for everything. If I don’t, I’ll disappoint everyone. I’m tired, uninspired and so alone. Maybe it’s just a phase, but I’m not happy and it’s becoming more and more apparent. I’m just so tired of striving to be perfect. I’m tired of my job. I’m tired of the fake smiles. I’m tired of working hard and seeing no results. I’m tired of people. I want to give up. I just want to be able to do what I want. I’m so angry. I just want to scream at the top of my lungs. Everyone else just seems oblivious (stupid) and I’m tired of pretending to like them. 

I’m not a pariah: A poem

I’m not a pariah.

I can’t chase after you and call it a day.

I can’t look for you and expect you to respond.

I’m not going to pretend like it doesn’t bother me.

I’m not going to scream at the top of my lungs.

I imagined it all differently.

I’m far away.

You’re somewhere I can’t even imagine.

But I dream of you.

You don’t have a face.

But we’re happy.

I’m not a pariah.

I can run after you expecting for something

Something I can’t control.

No time. 

Not mine.

I’m waiting. 

So I’ll wait.

I can’t run after something I’m not sure about.

I’m afraid to meet you

What if I hurt you

I’m afraid that I will.

I’m mean and sometimes

Sometimes I’m spiteful.

I’m quick to get angry

I get overwhelmed a lot.

I can’t imagine asking for permission.

I’m not a pariah

But I think I might be worse.

What if I want to control everything?

What if I turn into my Dad?

What if I yell and wish to control without reason?

What if you hate me?

My heart aches at the thought.

What if I hurt you…

I think I love you too much already to fall in love with you. 

Rant

Sometimes I’d like to tell it like it is. Sometimes I’d like to yell it from the mountain tops! Sometimes, when I’m really angry, I want to scream at all the idiots that love to sit there and blame everyone else for their crappy lives. Sometimes I want to pretend like people aren’t greedy or selfish, or rude. Sometimes I’d truly like to tell those people how clearly they’ve managed to ruin my personal perception of people and how much it affects my day when they decide to be ass-holes for no apparent reason. I don’t like lying. I don’t like acting like it’s no big deal. I don’t like pretending that everything is a piece of cake when it’s not. I get really anxious when I’m arriving to new places and I suppose that has a lot to do with the way I perceive people to perceive me. I’m self absorbed and that is the way that society has taught me to be. Apparently in my twenties I’m allowed to be selfish and act like I matter more than anyone else. But even if I choose to think differently, there will always be a moment when I slip up and become the selfish jerk I always knew I could be. We’re mean, we’re ludicrous and we generalize feelings and emotions into little categories. We think that things should be neat, you’re either pretty or fat, mean or nice, clean or dirty, right or wrong, girl or boy, straight or gay, happy or sad, believer or non-believer. I think I’m over believing that the world should fit in the palm of my hand. Where did all these rules come from? Was Jesus not the biggest rule-breaker that ever existed? I mean, if you wanna get biblical, think about that for a few minutes. Either way, I have a problem with the way things are going. I have a problem with the way everything is going. I just want to be free. I want to feel the freedom of having what ever color hair I want, or being what ever kind of person I want. I want to love and be loved. I want to dream, to travel, to grow, but I don’t want to do it under some unwritten laws that state the order in which everything has to go. My life is messy and I think that’s how it should be. 

Proper

I’m a hypocrite and I lie sometimes. I’m two-faced and scared sometimes. I sometimes don’t practice what I preach. And I get angry when others try to teach. But here it is. Plain and simple. I don’t like it when I’m singled. Out. I feel like I’ve been pretending to do something that makes no sense to me. I’m sad because I have the feelings of maybe multiple people. But there is nothing I can do but pretend that I’m just stable. I want to say certain things. I want to tell it like it is. But I’m a bit on the uneasy side of who I am and new beginnings. Either way, I lie a lot. I think I’m clever but I’m not. I try so hard to look real wise, but I’ve just come to realize, that I am who I am. Imperfect most of the time.

__________________________________________________

I call this a poem: How to properly complement a guy:

I can’t say that I like you.

No? Because I don’t

I just have to get the words out

So excuse me while I choke.

I really found you handsome,

When you struggled the most.

I really thought you sweet,

As you smiled through defeat.

But I have to pretend now,

That you’re just another

Another face to obsess over

To pass the time, to make a rhyme.

Soon it will go away

I promise you.

But if I may,

For now,

I’d just like to say…

WOW.

Sickly

I feel like I’m dying. I can’t breathe through my nose. I can’t even really feel my face. If I move, my bones will shatter. If I move, I’ll feel the aches I’ve been trying to pretend don’t exist. I’m tired and my heart begins to race. What is this? I feel like the room is spinning. I can barely get up. My neck feels like it’s carrying too much weight. The gunk in my eyes has no easy fix and all I want to do is lay down. I try. It’s hot now. These blankets aren’t cutting it. My limbs feel heavy. They feel sore. Help! 

Wide awake

I’m an imperfect person and there are many things that are “wrong” with me. I don’t like the idea of waiting. I hate staring at people’s eyes when they talk. I feel like I’m committing to something as soon as I do. But that’s just the way that I can at least control how I feel. Even though it’s hot inside, my hands remain icicles. It’s safe in this room, with the curtain pulled down. It’s safe in this bed with blankets preventing me from providing society with any progress. I think the hardest thing lately has been trying to find some sort of balance between what I’m feeling and how I want to be feeling. I want to be less afraid. So I have to throw myself into the pit of wolves to vanquish this fear. I can’t be this scared little girl forever. Sometimes I look down at my hands and imagine how they’ll age. I imagine the wrinkles and the lines stretching out changing the size of each finger. I imagine seeing these moles or spots unrecognizable to my younger self. I imagine standing in the mirror and finding myself hardly able to recognize the person staring back. But sometimes when I’m alone, when I am truly alone with nothing else but my thoughts to crowd me, I think of the future. I think of the never seizing “what if’s” and the sorrowful “if only’s”. Time is running from me. It’s leaving me behind and keeping me from comfort. I feel breathless running after it. Sometimes in the quiet intervals between sleep and being wide awake, I think of these stories of treasured emotions that seem to be happening to everyone else but me. But for the most part, I can hardly ever fully sleep.