Do you know why I never make promises?
I learned from a very early age
that it is hopeless to yearn for the
security of an oath when
all you'll get back is
an empty excuse and
an apathetic apology.
Living for the sake of living is something that I long to do.
Loving just because I can seems impossible.
Showing the world places and people who live in my mind
rather than just giving them my wordless ramblings?
Understanding how to be and not just exist?
It all feels as possible as touching the sun.
I want to climb the mountains.
To look back and feel delighted to see how high up I've reached.
But what good is climbing a mountain
if the peak is shrouded in fog?
What good is it if after every milestone,
you look down and wonder:
how long will it take for me to fall?
Will my words ever become more than just ink on a paper?
Will my legacy be some half-scattered sticky notes, with the
fragmented phrases of a failure scribbled out?
I wish I could promise myself that won't be the case.
I wish that I was better than I am.
I wish I had someone I could share my life with,
but who would want to wonder at the burden I'd be to them?
I can't promise anything because
my heart can't take breaking someone else's over my own.
It's easier to hate being alone by choice than to be abandoned.
If I told you how I felt, would you believe half the things I said?
Would you insist that I was insane?
The birds, the trees, the silences
of everything peaceful coming to an end?
Just because I decided that I'd had enough of it all.
Sometimes I wondered what it would be like:
To just be free.
-❀Oleander✿
YOU ARE READING
A Manuscript From Midnight
PoetryA collection of passages (most are sad) that I've written late at night when my brain decides to go into crisis mode. Enjoy!