I used to turn down drugs with frequent kiss of teeth from 13 years old when they came in the sticky palms of acne faced kids at parties all twinkly and bold, I said I didn’t need them, my teddy and my hope were salvage enough from any monsters, what need had I of medicated […]
a day may show itself
long or near from now
where pain and fear possess no place
their greedy place at your table outstayed
came into your life, wrecking balls
fathomless of the despair they could put
as wicked times will have us ensnared
forgetful of former peace
hostages to the ease with which
sickness makes strangers of us.
Who inhabits this body of pain?
when did normalcy include such horror?
what lurks behind the shell of our discontent?
masking the urge to cry out with futile restraint
who do we hide our agonies from? Or is it that obscene need to appear
while and strong? While behind public doors we collapse in mock
no succor for the actor of their own wellness
Give me hope we clamoring souls sing in our flung prayer and rage
let me believe
find the keys, the healer, the drug, the end of
or I think I wish
I never existed
a thought I’ve had many times before
though none are without regret
some of us excel at impoverished thought.
I do not remember the me before
mornings of hurt, nights of pain
was she a creature capable of delight and desire?
did I feel alive?
Sometimes it’s hard to know
the fall is long down rabbit hole
whomever she was
a better dream
slow living just above not existing
quiet in accepted
for another grasp at hope
where fear and pain
possess no place
A warbling, holding, green glass pain
Like joined hands make paper cut
Invisible like girl in crowd, falls
Deep as ink without light
Stinging with clamoring cymbal
Tears almost bare themselves as first night lovers, tremorous
Retreat beyond the naked streets
It is not brutal gnashing strength
But soft lipped resignation
And a little elipsing hope
For bare faced ceasement
Lain like prayers and rushes and thrown flowers wetting paving stones
No ceremony. Only, black cars devoid of dust
A trail without salt. They bent lower to seek. Not yet.
It’s hard to say it. The wind chokes words. Before.
We walk on. Omphalos in fatigued lament
Toward reprieve, illuminate in muted tempest.
I’ve been told I’m a chronic pain in the ass
after all, it’s easy to destroy a child in an adult’s body
with past-tense words
and now in the time I’m meant to be at my strongest
chronic has visited me and stayed a long while
on a good day I think; This will not be forever
but temporary has always been a long way off
the doctors love to tell us; It’s incurable, get used to
living like this, hostage to something unknown and strange
as if that’s a normal thing to do
but if enough of us live with chronic illness, it will become normal
and that is not a good thing.
Before this …
I took chances, because you think
I’m invulnerable, sometimes I can fly
health, you take for granted
though I truly convinced myself, I had checked the boxes
right weight, exercise, organic, vegetables, no pre-made meals
(well, this is what I told my doctor, sometimes a couch counts as exercise, right?)
if I ate a slice of pizza, it was a treat with friends
though I like root beer, I never drank it
maybe making up for cigarettes, smoked in my twenties
but I thought if I keep jogging, if I keep living healthily
I won’t be felled, because you ARE WHAT YOU EAT.
A few months before I got sick, I recall
feeling strong, climbing through snow drifts and laughing
boundless energy, working long hours, feeling intensely alive
people saying; you look so healthy, your skin is radiant!
Those are not things people say now, unless
I apply a lot of make-up, to camouflage my fraying edges
instead it is me, who declines invitations
I am sorry I cannot go with you to eat, even though eating out
is the number one leisure activity where I live
because my stomach is ruined and I cannot digest much
I live plain and simple (and boring), like a nun and I am numbed
to the pleasures of wine and sauces and garlic, spices and oils
not recognizing my bloated mid section in the mirror
from the girl who once was told
she had an hour-glass figure, with a wasp waist
could run for buses and catch them in three-inch heals.
I know everyone has their burden
but when you get sick and it doesn’t go away
life becomes a series of scolds and let downs
you find out who really loves you and who harbored an anger
used the opportunity of your downfall, to insert a knife
it is the cowards way of course, but freedom of sorts
for none of us need, that kind of negativity in our lives
there is a blessing in disguise, when you find your tribe
the people who care and know the real you
not wanting to tear you apart, because it’s easy to kick you when you’re down.
But blessings do not salvage, the hours you spend sickening
remembering how you were rarely felled in past years
strong of body, sound of mind, juicing and walking ten miles
everything is turned upside down, inside out when you find
a burnt fuse, at the end of your outstretched arm.
There is no cure, there is no future
when you live, in a jar for the jarring
for a long while, I blamed myself
maybe in part, because someone I trusted told me;
“It is your fault, you must have somehow caused it”
easy to throw stones, at glass houses
I was a glass house, with many windows
break one and I cannot repair it
the wind will come in and make of my space
the sun will come in and make of my peace
Those things that brought me joy, were gone
instead, the regiment of illness strode in and stood firm
you cannot feel passion, when you are sick
ageing in hours, rather than decades, trying to stay above water
it is hard to feel hope
you rely upon the kindness of others
which is hard to do, if you are not used to it
and when they lift you to the light, you promise
if I can recover, I will try ever so hard to never be ungrateful
but with every mercy, is a dark day in hell
those days take it all out of you, like a scourge
the sickening can age you, more than a nightmare
one minute you recognize yourself, the next you are unknown
vulnerability, of not being able to take care of yourself
the expense and fear
your world crumbling around you.
These are things you get used to and when you have fallen
to the bottom and can no longer get up
that is where the truth lies
that is where you can find
your true self and the end of fear.
They tried to tell you that you were insane
making it up, all in your head, something’s wrong with that
crazy lady who pounds her fluttering chest in vain
tries to catch the eyes of doctors, with beseeching side-glance
SEE ME! HEAL ME! SAVE ME! WHAT IS WRONG?
WHAT HAS HAPPENED TO ME? WHY DID I WAKE UP ONE DAY
SICK AND IT NEVER WENT AWAY?
And yes ! Something was wrong with me and still is
not my doing, not my causing, not my dreaming
despite you saying; You bothered us, when you called and were upset
no mercy, no mercy, no mercy, that is not love.
Helped me let go. Don’t hold on to negativity.
Oh doctor, get it outt!
and if you can’t, then give me the key, the saw, the pick
so I may survive myself and somehow continue on.
Am I to label myself chronically ill, or in recovery?
Surviving or dying or all of the above?
how do you define what doesn’t go and doesn’t kill?
Spending all your money on alternative treatments that
don’t even know what they pretend to cure
how do you describe one good day, followed by one in hell?
others won’t understand, because they are well
what I would give to return, to that safe water place
but even if I did, I would not be the same
you live years with a loaded gun to your head, everything changes.
I am not me anymore
I cannot see out of my left eye
I cannot lift heavy things, with my weak foreign arms
I can walk ten miles and not break a sweat despite this and be told
by friends and foes; OH YOU DON’T LOOK SICK
I am an apparent scar of contradictions and pain
I hurt every day, my stomach feels like
something is eating me from the inside out
it convulses and retorts and shouts
“you will never win, you will bathe in pain the rest of your life”
but I will still try
because I don’t know how to give in to enemies, I cannot see
and even as I cannot eat normal food
one day I am good, the next I am dying green
even as nausea, has become my constant companion
and bottles of pills and vitamins rattle in my pit
even as I fight to be gracious in the eye of the storm
and those I thought would stand by me, try to drown me instead
I know there is still a moment
I am well enough to remember who I am
never to find that peace of mind again
but maybe recover to another state of being.
I wake in the night covered in sweat and the disinterested doctor says
“get used to not sleeping, get used to all of this, it is what you must suffer and many others do”
as if it is normal to be like this, as if it is something we should not mention
I will never think it is normal to be hijacked!
I jog into the forest, because it reminds me I am still living, my feet still work
I fight with wilted hands, when they tell me there is no hope
that I should just consign my former glories to a picture album and put
my feet up for a fifty year occupation of sofas and couches and day time oblivion
because THE POWER OF ME can overcome the power of negativity and this I believe
as I see in the mirror a girl who doubts but stares back unblinking.
I have lost my will at times
I do not write as much, I have less energy
the last time I had a romantic dinner was in a dream and I
sleep with a heating pad on my stomach every night instead of a lover
but I still pay my own way and my own bills
I have a pride in pushing back against status quo
DEFYING the prescription of HOPELESSNESS.
they tell me go on disability. Just give up
I am not going anywhere, but to the finish line
by losing everything and having nothing but
the sheer will and dim light of my existence
I can do this without those I thought I had in my corner
because I am stronger than I realized
and this grieves me, as well as reassures me
but I come from a long line of stoic, strong women
and it seems sicker than I am, that we should hate each other
because life, surely we have found out, is fragile
and love is all that makes sense
but even without love I will continue and not
let the flame go out.
Sometimes I ask myself why?
why not just give in? Take the knife, swallow the pill
to oblivion or some non-sign-posted destination
I don’t have children to protect
it would be easy to slip out of this world and its sword edge of pain
but somehow I feel I should protect myself
maybe because others did not
maybe because you defend yourself in the end
when everything else is fallen and you are still
I am weak and tired and prematurely aged into
a hunched over version of myself
hair greying with shock, skin is sloughing off and my
body is tied to the rhythm of a sickness that purges and gluts
I was told this kind of disorder was permanent
but nothing I have found, is ever guaranteed
so I have chosen to ignore this and believe
we can all fight and overcome
even a death sentence
and when we know this
when we are strong for our weakness
realize our tears are just water and salt
burning the frustration of our visiting menace
then, we know nothing can hurt us, more than it already has
and we are free to dream
of a future without so much pain
where death stands to the side and lets us regain
some of our former dignity
for there is nothing dignified in sickness
and you don’t know me when you said I was glamorous
that is the last thing I am
I am beautiful for my courage
beautiful for my fear
beautiful for my survival
beautiful for my defeat
beautiful for my mercy of those who have no mercy for me.
And life is a wax and a wane
life is a torture and a friend
I am the totem of my own branding
I may live in a time where nobody else of my kith and kin remain
and once that would have filled me with pain
now I know you cannot rely upon
labels of safety
it is only by looking into the hearts of those
who stayed by your side when the storm hit
even if it is one, even if it is naught
you remain behind
the tempest cannot roar forever
eventually even agony ceases.
I wish now, to be everything you were not
to love others unconditionally
care for those who are in need
be the change I want to see
I want to find myself
at the end of all of this
I want to tell you, sickness
you do not win
you are just a miasma
I am a spirit with a soul
I will endure you
the me, of me, will remain
long after, to remember her worth.
Before this all began and through it, learned
only the fierce remain
only those willing to FEEL
and not those who run from feeling
with the ease of the damned.
Long before now
there was a time I did not write
could not write, would not write
I danced, I moved, I climbed, I painted
with our heads together like arrows, friends and I
toy rabbits, ladybugs, a glow in the dark star
would entertain ourselves with crayons and pastels
plasticine and Lego, wooden blocks, old socks, foil and glue
I built fortresses in the woods near my grandmothers
house where she looked out occasionally, a glass in one hand
erected camps in trees fallen in the storms
or beneath protesting furniture that wasn’t meant to be moved
turning into a gypsy tent, bedding, blankets, string
anything the imagination could seize and shake out into magic
I did not write
even then I felt
words were just words
so glib and easy
words like; ‘have a good birthday’ from
people staying absent
words like; ‘you know I care’ from
people not caring
I couldn’t spell, so I didn’t reply
I didn’t enunciate, so I didn’t call them back
the phone would ring in the distance, mournfully
if it got too loud, I turned the music up
all this by the age of ten
I was free of words, they were not my language
a song and the movement it encouraged was
an elongation of expression and urges
and later, a dance club, even at 14, seemed safer
than three sheets of echoing, empty paper
rubbing shoulders with strangers who sought like me
to raise their arms through the strobe lights in search
of something missing
not seeking drugs or sex but the fury and beauty
of dancing away their sadness
I didn’t know it then
acting upon instinct
the instinct to run, when you cry
dance when you want to jump
push away those who clamor for attention
stop feeling the pain you do, every single day
whilst some of my friends who were depressed
listened to The Cure and other sorrowful LPs
I scorned anything sad and
stepped into the light of disco, rock, electronica
in time I found there were other things you could do
to turn off the hurt
and I did them ALL, every damn one
There is an honesty to admitting to yourself
I don’t know what’s been happening, but I’m in pain
everything I should rely upon has gone or never been
I am alone and I am scared, I haven’t yet grown up
nobody will help me so I have to help myself but
I don’t know how
I learned it felt good to lie in bed with someone
even if they were nothing more than warmth and key strokes
I learned it felt good to give rather than receive
because you protected those parts of you, rarely revealed or wanted
I learned drugs were not a menace but a street form
of antidepressant for kids who couldn’t tell their hurt
didn’t know where to begin or how to heal the
emptiness and anger growing in their bones
I learned if you are crushed badly enough, time and again
you grow a skin of fur and you become a feral creature
not human anymore
but living for the night, pulse of music playing
brief flicker of excitement, when you forget being yourself and all that comes with that
the disappointment, the heartache, the rejection
you’re just a shivering wretch, gaining admittance into forbidden light
you’re just a body that can move and shake and vibrate
beneath the waves as they engulf the roar and scream
every morning I swam 25 laps
every night I ran in heels for the bus
every stroke of midnight I transformed into anyone but myself
it felt good, it felt more real than trying to
inherit the mantle of despair and unwanted closing walls
I climbed out and didn’t go back
I never wrote down a word
not even when I received
another letter stating things that were never real
words were lies, words were lies
I’ve always been drawn to truth
Somewhere in those years, something changed
maybe you get lazy, maybe you forget your way
or the pain becomes something you think is who you are
or the hurt is a coat you wear without knowing you do
I stopped swimming in the mornings
I quit dancing in the evenings
in my blood lay a virus of dormancy and despair
it grew and grew like a wild flower teasing out of concrete
until I’d forgotten my way through the elaborate maze
I was just another lab rat, waiting to live their life, turn to ash and regret
Now the irony is, I’m writing all the time
I write how I feel, I write how you feel, I write out
the hollow cries kicking from inside out
but words are fickle, they are not your friend
words convey what you mean, and equally they contradict
words don’t get things done
words are on pages, often unread
If it would work I’d burn my thoughts
watch them light up the night on the 5th of November
put on my running shoes
go to you
take you by the shoulders and shake
all my words out of your head
run with you down the highway
find the place we can be in my mind
get on the dance floor, pull you with me
try another communication
another way of getting through
anything but the languages that leave us empty
mistrustful, doubtful, not waiting for more
we’ve both been there before
at the end of a letter
shaking our heads
for all that was done, versus said
is often quite the opposite
you tell me, if I knew you, I would not like
the person I came to know
but you are wrong, so very wrong
it is in the imperfect there is wonder
I’m used to people backing off, going cold, erecting walls
it’s what I experienced every day
the fear of others, becomes the dismissal
there is another way
let me show you
but not like this
let me show you
in between words
with every gesture of my soul
give me this
I just watched the amazing film Bohemian Rhapsody. Let me ask you something … if I begin this post with; “And I wanted to talk about being gay” How many of you would stop reading? Ask yourselves, what does that really say about you?
I want to talk about being gay. Watching the story of Freddie Mercury it struck me (again) how the tiny minority of people who are gay (not bisexual) still struggle. You may ask why or point to more worthy causes to talk about …
Imagine being 1/2 percent of the population. Maybe you already are. That’s how many women are lesbians and men are roughly 2/3 percent. Bisexuality is far more prevalent, however 85% of women who are bisexual end up married to man, which begs the question, is there such as thing as ‘true’ bisexuality’ or is there just a desire to play both sides until you settle down, invariably with someone of the same gender?
Either way, ‘true’ queer women are rare. For men, those who are bisexual tend to end up being with men. It begs the question – do these stats indicate being a lesbian is not a life style many people choose or want to adopt? Or simply, that most women have a tendency toward heterosexuality as their preference?
My unscientific viewpoint for what it’s worth is; Men who have sex with men tend to be with men maybe because to ‘go there’ is almost indelible? Whereas sexuality for women is more fluid, and whilst they may like having sex with another woman and find her attractive, it’s not enough of a hook. Is sexuality and gayness a preference? I don’t think so, which means the ‘true’ number of gays is smaller than we even credit.
I personally don’t understand why more men are gay than women, as I am biased and see a lot more to be attracted to in a woman than a man (although they are harder to go out with because they are more demanding and selfish and less romantic). Irrespective, a man who is attracted to men, doesn’t go back and forth as much, a woman who is attracted to women may well end up with a man as other considerations come into play. To me, this isn’t being gay – it’s just having fun. Maybe I’m saying being gay is massively different to being bisexual.
I would imagine the negatives about bisexuality are; judgment from both sides, and that’s about it. If you are totally gay then the negatives include persecution, ostracizing, not fitting in, having no role models, no representation and most of all – feeling weird because 99/98 percent of the world doesn’t ‘get’ you and where you are coming from.
How many times have I been told by a woman that they find other women attractive but they can’t really understand wanting to be with a woman for any length of time – interestingly not because of sex, most women like oral sex, but because of the high maintenance being with a woman entails and how nice it is when a man romances you. It is true, it’s rarer and finding it with a woman, well you often end up having to do all the work and while men are good at that, women aren’t as much.
Hence why of those relationships that last, the classical butch/femme roles tend to work out best because the lesbians who are butch want to imitate a man and romance the woman and the femme is happy. I realize that’s a negative stereotyping of female-female relationships but there is also some truth.
Thinking about the AIDS era (which has never entirely left us and now that there are new drugs that people can take to reduce their likelihood of HIV exposure, where’s the incentive to continue to practice safe sex?) and how many gay men (and others) died and the terrible things that were said about them and how generations exist now that know nothing of this and how it will be forgotten …
I remember I was very young but I heard people say things like; “AIDS is killing the queers its divine justice” That told me early on that gay people were not equal and would never be treated equally behind closed doors. At one point in my life I was in the closet because it was easier and unlike a person of color, a gay person can often be in the closet to avoid prejudice. I’d not been in the closet before and suddenly I was privy to the things straight people said about gays when they didn’t think one of them was listening. I realized that this had all been said of me when I wasn’t in the closet but behind my back.
Then the other aspect to consider is the gay community and how judging and excluding it can be and how for many queers, fitting in with their own gay ‘family’ doesn’t always come easy or at all. I personally tend not to get on with gays, I have found them to often possess the worst traits of heterosexuals which deeply disappoints me. Lesbians judge you for not being queer enough, or act like swaggering men. Gay men can be such divas that they own the sarcasm and bitchiness in the room.
Does it mean you’re a ‘bad’ queer if you don’t feel in with ‘your people’? And yet … why assume just because you share one thing in common, you’ll get along? I’m sure I share something in common with Trump as well … point made.
The female gay world is divided into sections, either you’re a successful, educated career person in which case you go to exclusive things and judge those who are not on your level. You only date those who are like you, and you have high expectations as well as demanding those women you date are athletic, social and above all, status and financially successful.
The other group are the more neighborhood based gays, and the clubs teem with liars, frauds and fakes alongside players, druggies and alcoholics. If you imagine being heterosexual and reducing the number of options you have from roughly 48% to 1/2% you probably wouldn’t find someone you liked either. And let’s for not forget, if you’re straight and you see someone in the street or anywhere, you can essentially flirt with them without fear. But how can you tell when someone may be gay? Contrary to popular opinion, the gay-dar doesn’t work THAT well. So you are further restricted to mind-reading, falling in love with heterosexuals or going to gay clubs where the worst reside.
Boo Hoo right? A hard life. But not nearly as hard as many others. Combine that with a co-morbidity of higher rates of depression/anxiety (no wonder) and all the accompanying aspects that may accompany homosexuality and a life time of being shamed, ridiculed, the odd one out, and it’s not simply one issue, it’s everything.
There have been times I wished fervently not to be gay. I got fed-up of having a crush on my straight friend who wouldn’t like me if I were the last person standing, I saw how well men can treat women, I envied the heterosexual world. That’s why being gay is no choice, as most who had one, wouldn’t choose it.
That said it’s not all negative. Some of the best parts of my life have been as a result of being gay. Watching the film on Freddie Mercury really affected me profoundly because it reminded me that only a few years ago in my city there were stickers condemning gays having the right to marry, that my own life has been severely disrupted/destroyed for several reasons related to being gay, and how many gays have suffered over the years.
I may not be a huge fan of this modern world – 2018 onward – and I may hark beck to ‘better’ eras as I perceive them, BUT I know things are improving for gays and I hope one day, being gay is not something that will pull you down and give you pain. It will be what it is meant to be, a natural minority who see things differently but are in every other way part of us all.
Spare a thought for gays even as you think they have all their rights now and should stop complaining. It is not as simple as possessing rights. Gays are still more likely to commit suicide, have addictions, mental illness, be ostracized from family and be beaten up and murdered. Gays can often be very isolated, their pain not taken seriously, and feel alone even among ‘their kind’ and it really does make a difference to us when someone, irrespective of gender, befriends us and likes us for who we are, without being uncomfortable around us.
A friend for a gay person has twice the value because we never take it for granted and we always feel so lucky. After all, most of us living, remember a time when admitting you were gay would guarantee nobody would be your friend. Therefore, thank you for all who show kindness to us, and remember, compassion is the only thing that compensates for the erstwhile damage human beings have historically wrought, both on minorities of all kinds and our planet.
I dream of a world where it will be okay to walk down the street and not worry about holding hands with the person you love, when it will be comfortable to kiss someone you’re with, in public, without fearing being beaten up. Just as women worldwide, dream of walking down a street without being raped. I believe this day can come, if all of us have the patience to see the value of talking about this and not saying ‘I’m so fed up with the gay agenda or the feminist agenda’ and switching off. Until we have true equality, the only thing we can do is bring awareness and hope in turn, it produces change.
Oh, and to those bisexuals? Yeah. Sorry. But on the other hand, I’ve got a point. Can’t you sometimes choose the girl? 😉
Go see Bohemian Rhapsody. It’s incredible.
Older people used to tell me how time goes faster for every year
I think it is more that we let time go on, doing nothing to change our course
where before we would have done more to reach the point, we were seeking
what causes this I don’t know, maybe youth is intense, more packed into a year
maybe we stop believing we can change, or get lazy, or preoccupied or led by fear
I wasn’t very old when I learned fear can stop the neediest heart and leave her all alone
staring at walls in a black dress
eventually a day comes we see we have spent a long time watching for ships
as years passed by and we got into a rut of our own invention
it stuns me we can stay still for so long, neglecting our wants, our needs
as if they do not exist, pushing them down, hiding their force
just as we deny their existence, they surface and it’s like no time has passed
we are the same passionate creature we were before we forgot how
only older without much wisdom, just the feeling we didn’t do enough
for some of that may be vanity, our finite lives, the idea of a beginning and end
some of it may be true, who we thought we would be, or never considered
I envy those people who set a straight arrow and shoot and never seem to miss
not all of us are that precise or insightful or calculated
I drifted, partly because of distractions, partly out of inertia or sadness or a feeling of loss before I gained
acting like I had all the time in the world, that things would come still come my way
when everyone knows as you get older it gets harder
to generate that spark, that kindling, that damn irresistible flame
I’m also guilty of trying to assuage fear and you cannot live for such things
you must be bold or if not, pretend you are, for nothing, nothing was ever found by a coward
I have been afraid a long time, I have not trusted myself or my ability to survive without safety nets and hesitation
there was this picture in my mind of me
old and alone in poverty and I ran from that as if it were the cross
so much so I didn’t consider if my choices were really mine
or I was just responding to anxiety about something that may never come to pass
the attention I gave you
all these years
were not spent wisely
for when it ended, I got nothing in return
nothing at all to show
it was in that way, a real error on my part
nobody likes to pour themselves inside out for someone
only to find it all goes up in smoke
I can’t say you were my undoing because
we have choices, but I definitely wasted myself on you
who could cut me out of your world like I was a paper doll
all the emotion I had, that was wasted too
there is nothing worse than feeling you gave everything and still it wasn’t enough
so forgive me if I feel bitter about that.
When we stand still, we calcify but don’t always turn hard
I still remember the feeling of dancing and wanting and longing
I remember thinking maybe life doesn’t have to be so beige
and un-passionate, that it can be wisteria
maybe life can be the way I feel now at this exact moment
imagining what it would feel like kissing you until our lips grew sore
despite so many people in this world it is not easy
to stare across a room and find
your familiar, the one who moves your blood
but I thought I found it in you, from the very first
Probably I was mistaken, it seems like risks are only suited to certain players
but tell me, if I was wrong, then why do I hold such indelible feelings?
why do I not walk away when it seems, the logical thing to do
when I close my eyes I see your face
I long to hold your hand and feel the light pulse in your small wrist
except if things were meant to be
they’d fit and you’d feel the same way, not be unmoved by chemistry
perhaps it is the story of my life
to find it so hard to fall and when I do, land on my face
perhaps I am not meant to be in someone’s arms
held, worshiped and adored, as you once said
was that a brush-off or just the truth?
who knows anymore it almost doesn’t matter
because I have tasted disregard many times in my life
to the point of knowing all the flavors it comes in
and if you don’t share my feelings
if I don’t make you want to jump up and run to me
if you don’t stay awake at night, your heart thundering
then I am not going to try to woo you
and I don’t want to be the girl, who has to try twice as hard
not when it comes to emotions, they either exist or they don’t
it just seems an irony, I pluck up courage and make a fool of myself
I was once told I should go find someone who’d be crazy about me
if that were possible maybe I would
but you’d be surprised what exists
and what does not
in this funny world of