I’m getting sick of trying. It’s not worth it. If I give up, I will stop failing. I’m done with you and your worries. If only I can see a problem, then I must work through it alone, but I know you see this too. If you want me, you need to pursue it through the grapevine. People will talk and you will have to step out of line; only in time will you see the relevance in my speech. I lecture on what I know nothing about. I only know what I see and I see almost nothing.
My insignificance runs your life into the ground. If I scream loud enough, do you think the neighbors will notice? My pain seems to be the talk of the town but no one in the city seems to understand what they are talking about so it must not matter. They live in fear of what could be, but the truth is the scariest of all. Fear is irrelevant in situations of distrust.
When I sing, dreams fall from the sky. My motion creates a wall of distance so long it reaches the gates of a line. I tried to be what you wanted from me. I lost myself in that mess and I never proceeded to clean it up. I ran away and never came back. I was almost murdered by a girl who can’t even see. It was homicide to the brain. I have lost the feeling in my nerves and somehow pain held on. Can you scream when you can’t think? I’ve forgotten how to speak. This count for excellence seems to be slightly obscene. I must not even be me.
I need your help to paint. This canvas is bone dry; the first drop adheres to the surface like a knife to a blade. Continually together, and never by choice. The first mistake must be the worst or the lessons will keep coming. To learn you must reflect. Suppression is the only answer when asked why. No one ever cares. The reason doesn’t matter; you only want justification or a second chance. Manipulation is never as good as the real thing. The outcome could give the impression of completion, but to succeed, wrongs must be rights and lefts must be forgotten. Wonder may amuse and I may be used. Lying is an option if you wish to conceal the purpose of your actions. Actions reflect emotions and emotions never reflect thought. Taste the fear and feel the same. Deceit cannot work to benefit, not by chance. Fate is not reality. You determine the theme. Opinion and influence is the most say you have in any situation. The rest is uncontrollable.
There is an animosity reached in my mind, concealed by the obscure method used to be impartial. My instinct is to seem contentious. By far, I exceed the capacity to be intensely mean. My intent is to seem strange. I look to be reticent and cut off. If only I think…or stop. Fucked up is a noun not an adjective. From the inborn control freak I want to be. I contradict my own life. You don’t seem to see how I break. If I try to think, I can’t dream. Only in words do I feel acceptance. I use this tool to do what I know nothing about. Why can I deceive all but those who matter? Frustration and worry consume what I call my importance. Pity and truth come when you feel like there may not be a tomorrow. I can’t see the day after the next and the next seems years away. I can’t control my instinct to breath. I don’t want to create the sensation. I’m torn again for the first time. I’m changing my ways and I’m scared. I fear for my being.
Trust is an obvious issue and passion is an oblivious mistress. Still I see you and want to try. In my gut this is right. Do I want this for a reason? Is this a message to me? Is God telling me I need to be wrong to feel superior? Which I need to rid for me to leave. I’m done with being what you want, but I know, for a fact, I will miss what I’m not being. The prize is never reached although it feels as if it is worth the pain and wait. Confusion and anger run rampant in me. They sting. Tell me, please, what do you want from me? I won’t sit and wait. Not this time. I’m not letting it happen again. I’m about to shut everyone out. I’m not giving out. I’m not even giving in. I’m sitting out and looking in. Amplified and magnified by the water in my eyes. Literally, I’m screaming inside. First glance and I’m already made of glass. Those rocks come a little too close sometimes. If one comes in contact, I won’t be intact. I will be over. My wall will be down and I may not be here. I will have gone to the edge of my ability and shot down all my dreams. I can’t guarantee I won’t leave.
Abby Maxwell