Bad Poetry - Blog Posts

I come back here when things are hard. So in spite of previous posts, please believe me when i say,

things have been better.

I’ve always said things do get better. And I’ve always been right about that. You know, he’s repeated those words to me. That brought a smile to my face. And I am still right.

I’m thinking of the nights when I used to break apart in my bed. A pain in my heart so palpable it scarred my skin. And then days passed. Years even. And the wounds healed and the days were bright and I found happiness again.

I haven’t felt pain like that again. And I don’t think I ever could. I know too deeply that I am beautiful and loved, for that ache to return.

It does get better.

Always.

~

However, I still get tired. And frightened. And sad. Right now I feel that.

The world feels like it crumbles beneath my fingertips. I believe in love. In safety. And my assurances fall away like dry sand. Every day scrapes by like a wounded soldier, dragging himself home.

I apologize for being so dramatic, to you the empty void. I’ve been missing love for so long.

And It’s always felt too good for me.

You know, in church we used to sing hymns? Horrible things. Monotone and droning. And there they’d weave their messages for me. A wretch they sang, working my mouth with needle and string. Sewing words in hungry earth, that blossomed into an endless fear.

A wretch. That I was not good enough for any type of love, except for love from a being you can not see, can not hear, and can not touch.

And my fear grows. Am I loved?

Am I loved? Am I loved? Am I loved? Am I loved? Am I loved? AmIlovedamilovedamilovedamiloved oh please god let me be loved.

can you hug me just one more time? I know what I am disgusts you just tell me you love me back one more time and I’ll stop being so messy I’ll straighten my hair and whiten my teeth and I’ll stop being so bad and I’ll stop talking about my. Best friend. With stars in my eyes and I’ll be a normal girl who wants a boyfriend just tell me you love me without the shame of lying in your eyes let me curl up on your lap and comb through my hair with your fingers and I’ll rip out the pink white orange stitched into my favorite jacket and I’ll give up on my dreams

Why can’t anyone like me? plenty of people love me but why am I so goddamn unlikeable? whats wrong with me what’s wrong with me? what’s wrong with me why am I doing this it won’t make me feel better what is wrong with me why do I hurt why won’t it stop why won’t the wound congeal why is it still bleeding it’s been bleeding for three years and eternity and my whole life and since this morning why won’t it heal what’s wrong with me

Why can’t you like me

it’s true what’s been said

“when you know, you know”

for those who ask the question,

certainly do not “know”

for me it’s,

found

absolute

and full

maybe that resonates with some who “know” because if I know anything,

it is that I simply “know”