Weight On My World- a poem a day or ... something

the story of my life

4:23 am, and inspiration has struck, but not in the traditional sense. I day dream a bit, I actually do this a lot, mostly about seeing people, expecially those who I miss and it is uncertain when or if I will see them again.

I get it, I know why I did it, why I did what I did to myself. Month a of wondering and worrying and pondering and examining all leading down to this. Not an answer. But hey, mystery solved! Right?

I did it, because I put all this pressure on myself to be happy. Not to hurt, to be happy and to smile and to be with others and to make them laugh and to make them happy because it is my duty to put them before myself, and every once and a while these carefully arranged towers and cities of cards would start to teeter and i would start to go numb, and I couldnt have that because when you go numb you aren't happy and you can't share numbness with other people the way you can a confident smile or a streak of radiant light, so I would force myself to feel. Restarting the cycle.

And I wonder why I do this anyways, I think its because I want to be this kid, this wild child, this crazy and wild child that talked about politics and stuck up for what was right and was crazy and a little broken and self destructive but that's okay because I would more than happily become friends with anyone and the kid who stayed up late rocking out and cried over eminem songs and felt everything. But then two people I gave everything to really hurt me, and thus started the endless loop of existential crisis after existencial crisis because what's the point of loving people so much if all they are ever going to do is hurt you.

But there are these things that I think about a lot and all of them pile up but so what if I'm falling apart! I just want to be going somewhere. And so what that the people who you love most are also the ones with the power to hurt you. And so what you might give up everything because you love people enough that you would rather hurt yourself over and over and over then figure out what the hell is wrong with you and admit you aren't perfect in the process and risk them hurting you and risk you hurting them. Is it easier? What is easy?

Life is a blur, and its the rush and God I don't know if it'll be finishing my book or finally singing for a crowd of people or saying this was a good year and saying yes I hurt or if it's just summertime when the air is sweet and you know how much I hurt that one time for this ever to be as messy or melodramatic and rough and exciting as last summer but it happened and it was the deepest most profound love I'd ever experianced so to that newfound emptiness that absense of life saying this is a lie it is not, living like this is not wishful it is not jealous or false, if anything it is imperfect and therefore beautiful, to feel this way, for the first time to have my heart whisper to me in the quiet of my night's when I took those runs under the stars, "you are alive"