I guess it's what we do with it. Whether or not we can acknowledge it. Whether or not we learn to manage it.
It could all be so very wonderful. It's got all the potential in the world to be such a delight... such a good story.
Instead, it's just a ____ fight.
Half of the time, I think the madness comes from the fact that we choose to be ungrateful spoiled little brats in adult bodies. Riding around on our high horse, playing a goddam victim with our arms full of double standards. Going home to our house of mirrors... our phones set on self-portrait... always asking, "how do I look? how do I feel?"
Spinning in circles pulling everyone who'll stick around into our self-absorbed orbit of
"Please, please me."
All the same, I wish I knew the antidote.
I'd take it.
And wait for it to absorb into the bloodstream.
Take a few moments to make amends and allow the healing to really begin.
And then just be at rest... while in motion.
My heart is in full swing.
And none of these "But, are you mine?" wonderings left.
None of this questioning my place in their hearts.
All of this doubt and mistrust.
all of this over-processing.
all of this thought.
my mind is ever-provoked to thinking and analysis.
Waiting for the next blow.
And so, these loose ends shouldn't be tied,
and i'm pulling them ever so slowly.