I will one day, look back to the many yesterday’s. The one’s I had to skip, and give up on in the end. The kind that remind me of my many limitations. The bridges burnt in a fit a rage. Many more mind you, ended up being a last minute saving grace. To run in place from the pain. Dealing with demons others could easily ignore. I can’t keep up so, might as well do the work. I am happy to oblige, only if it means I get to finally walk away for good. My purpose isn’t permanent, I admit, I am a temporary fix. A nudge to get you on your way, a bigger chore to maintain as a keepsake no one really asks for, like a houseplant that simply hangs, as the beautiful and painfully awkward, companion you never knew you needed, until you don’t anymore and that’s okay.
I come with, an ever growing list of, “as literal as I could be in that moment,” instructions and run-on sentences. Not everyone’s cup of tea, and it really is just fine with me. In all that you consider holy, please just stop taking up what’s not meant for you, sit down and give others that space. I am happy to spend my downtime enjoying what the universe has in store for me. I am happy to take even the storms intended to clear my path these days. Those who dine with me know where my heart sits. Spending so much of my past, attempting to be relevant. Above the bar that doesn’t really exist. Treading water that was never my own. Dodging bombs in someone else’s backyard. I want to be free of all the irrelevant confusion. Be anywhere but where disappointment is expected.
I am the happiest in places, where life is filled with raw emotions, and space for hyper fixations. Where the bell doesn’t ring, and accountability is a thing. A community of creatures, motivated towards a common goal, getting the fuck out of this hell hole. Depression, anxiety, and so many more, that lead me to my own Alphabet Mafia. The way the world works, please just plow over, what was left of, the who you think I used to be. The life I used to try to live, within the confines of, someone else’s garden. Strength comes from starting over again and again. Just not where the trauma remains.
I am happy to share my life story that always swings back to the moral: “Please go out and prove them all wrong. Don’t ever give in. Those one sided interactions, the most they wanted was a fake friend.” Follow up with a, “Someone to compare themselves too, so their life isn’t so basic.” Then hitt’em with a, “I am an original, one of a kind personality. Handpicked, broken mold, all that shit they say in the end.” Don’t believe me, I’m pretty sure you’re lying to yourself, ’cause I can summarize those conversations verbatim, no hashtag needed:
Them: ‘You couldn’t just be a copy of one of them?’ and my answer always will be a variation of: What’s the mystery in that? Y’all can see how that’s gonna end!
Me: You know insanity’s definition is ‘do it over and over again, expecting change.’ Them: Why the hell fight a fight when there’s no one to praise me for it?
Me: “Yeah, that’s were you’ll find me; somewhere close with my boots on the ground. That’s where the love and regret find each other in the end; coming together to mark the most honest of men. The gull you’d have to admit, we could’ve done more of “it” if it didn’t lead to clout, money or another Amen.”
Reached out for a response’, didn’t even get a “no comment,” just left me on read….
written by Just Rant Already
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