if you love me you will read.

you frustrate me
and not in a sexy way
you know
not everything can be
sexy
no matter how hard you laugh
i know
you understand me
and how i am so done with you
that all that’s left to do is
laugh

i have to take advantage of the days when i like myself.
the other days are coming soon, i wake up thinking.
which is an awful thing to wake up thinking,
when you wake up feeling good. but it’s alright
at least for the moment. because the goodness is there
even in the shadow of the awful. and the shadow
of the awful i find isn’t all that dark. there i am ripe
and in bloom. i peel myself away, the thick skin
i needed yesterday to protect myself from the blows
of my own insecurity and fear. underneath those
i find a cool toffee-colored flesh to rejoice in.
i am the fruit. i am the flower. i am the radiating glow
that beams through the blinds and lights up
the side of the neighbor’s house. i clothe myself
gladly just to look and feel and smile and go outside
and show myself: hello, hello, today is good.
and maybe tomorrow will be bad. maybe even this
afternoon will sour, shrivel, wilt, perish. but right now
i have to take advantage. i like myself.

i heard it said once how ‘alive’ is such a sad word. confusing, too. and ‘consciousness’—the whole concept—befuddling, to me. i exist. i am flesh and bone, tangible, touching and touched. i am spirit, desiring, yearning, yielding, hiding, shrinking back. and soul, inherently fixed with these preferences and tendencies and thoughts that i have. and heart, all tangled into the body, spirit/soul combo. and i am given time, to exist in. a limited amount of it. and i’m supposed to figure out what i’m supposed to do with this time somehow, without knowing how much of it i have. because even though at this very moment i am burning away, edging closer to life’s cliff’s edge, apparently it is possible for me to make an impact on other people and even the world—an impact that could drop like a stone into the water, making noise for only those in its presence but shooting out ripples far beyond its physical reach. generations of people could know me. long after my being alive is over. but right now i am just sitting here. i am conscious only of what touches me: the bed beneath me, the love letter in my pocket, the sounds in my ears. i will never be conscious of the person in 2185 who somehow, magically, stumbles upon these words on that antiquated blog site. or (the most delightful thought to me) reads them in the introduction of some book written about my monumentally successful writing career (here i show you my spirit and soul). what i will never be conscious of, depends upon what i do with my living. what i am conscious of now, may never be accounted for in the story of my life. how amazing, and ridiculous, and frightening, and sad.

likeawritingdesk:

littlebirdsings:

this is my ask box. it’s pretty cool when you put things in it. like questions or comments or things that make me smile or things that make me uncomfortable just a little or things that make me want to write.

just in case you weren’t aware.

stealing this

ode to this unrequited love

you’re my friend
and i just love
it that way.

you are quite important to me.
i hope you stick around.
but don’t expect too much.
otherwise i may leave.
pretend you didn’t hear that.
what i meant was here i am.
you have a nice voice.
i have a nice feeling.
you should stick around.
though i don’t know what i’m doing.