I’m always thinking about Sundays
about 11:59 pm
about things ending
about time
and how it’s just a social construct
and how even if it is just a social construct
it’s still totally tripping me up
all the damn
time.
I’ve got a handful of plans about everything
(at any given instance)
and I can easily flow chart my way
through the pros and cons of doing each one of them.
(but who knows if I’ll actually do any of them-
I mean fully,)
I write to do lists so I don’t have to do them and
I make my coffee an entire day before I need it
sometimes I just plan so I don’t have to do
and sometimes I just do so I don’t have to plan.
this is how I escape myself-
so that I won’t realize I’m hurt when other people escape me
after I have led them to the trap door and said “please escape me.”
this is how I evade real love
and then claim myself unloveable
by being “too busy” for it
by listening to my half-truth heart,
my bully brain,
my thickest thoughts,
my abandonment issues saying things like
“yeah I heard so and so say that extra nice thing to you
but they can’t mean it.
It’s cute you still think shit will work out.”
I have a hard time separating the parts of me that think shit will work out
and the ones that are already throwing a funeral for our feelings.
I didn’t want to be cold but
I felt myself love you like a Philadelphian snow storm
saw you praying for some semblance of predictability
of accurate forecast
Yes, I always thought the X-men were cool.
No, I didn’t want to grow up to be a storm.
Now I’m tracking my weather patterns
but it might be too late.
The collateral damage already accumulated as
you made me face every one of my demons without an alter ego,
without a mask on,
and I’m not a superhero
but I sure have my fair share of kryptonite.
This isn’t your fault
but this is why I ran away.
I don’t look good in a cape of self-sewn shame but
I can’t stop wearing it sometimes and
and I don’t take well to criticism
(even the constructive kind)
sometimes.
I often think praise feels ingenuine
like, “you’ve got the wrong one.”
’cause the parts of me that completely love myself are completely there
but they have been carved only in recent history
the etchings are still so fresh sometimes
they don’t feel deep enough for me to recognize them
I’m trying to feel them
I’m trying to feel
I’m trying
I
& 