I secretly love that who I am includes more than one personality.
My passion is undeniable
And my heart will feel
Every. Single. Thing.
I love that I am fragile
And also bold,
Ready to speak up before my brain can argue that it's what I should do.
It's messy and even when it's quiet
It's really hard to pull yourself away
Because you're thinking at any minute
A new thing will happen.
And the new thing might not be exciting or even pleasant.
But it will always make you feel something.
Sometimes I will set my glass heart on a shelf that is missing a ***** or two,
Or balance it on a ledge
Just to see if fate is paying attention
And give myself the thrill of not knowing if I am going to break today.
I think I like the excitement and the pain of putting myself back together,
Because everytime it comes out a little different.
When I die I can tell the people in my life that I have loved them as many different people and that it is more powerful than anyone else who will give them that emotion.
My love is magic, excessive, everywhere and expressed in different ways depending on what skin I was wearing then.
And that makes me feel strong,
And special.

If I eat the edges of the toast first and then the middle then there's no way I will feel sick after.
If I wake up and wash my hands and then eat a muffin that I've carefully separated the top from, and start with the bottom first then my day will be successful and I will have to make good choices.
And if I make the kids lunches the night before, then make sure I put them in their bags by 8:15 their days will be uncomplicated and safe.

Aren't these rules that everyone knows?

I like when it gets dark and it's quieter in the hallways, you can hear your neighbors TV softly drowning out the creaks and the groans and the whispers of your body as you slowly relax.
I'm not sure if my mind moves faster or if I can just hear it better because everything around me is moving slower as the minutes go by.
Either way the speed of the thoughts isn't what makes me feel unsteady,
It's the fact that they start in one spot and up back at you.
I don't even fight it anymore.
They move across my brain like it's routine now.
It makes me forget how to breathe in a  normal pattern
And makes my stomach feel like it's filling up with cotton.
Somehow I always end up back at the beginning and I say good night.
Goodnight heart.
Goodnight memories.
Then I turn off the light and close my eyes to get enough rest so that I can do the routine again tomorrow.

I don't want you to "like" me
I want to invade you, so you can't think of anything else but the way my mouth looks when I speak.
I'm warm, soft and my eyes say "come closer".
Feels familiar, almost, right?

Most people when they are asked what they want to do for a living will respond with things that are painfully normal and expected.
But for some reason I always knew that I'd spend my adulthood going from body to body, from heart to heart, making sure that each one gives me a piece of them that will change how they live the rest of their life.

I'm meant to do this, you know.
I'm your dream girl
I like metal and I want a white picket fence and let's start a business together, partners right?
Yeah totally I like that podcast I listen to it all the time. ​
I know how you take your coffee,
And that you don't like it when people don't tip their servers.
I indulge every detail of your core.
I'm your girl. I am you.
We are the same.

I'm the keeper of your secrets and I speak your body's language in a way that sends you into another world.
Pleasure never existed before me.

You let go and you will never notice that sometimes when you are laughing or enjoying my body or talking about something you love,
I peek out from behind the wall and secretly wish that you'd notice.

Everything about this body is wrong.
It hurts underneath my teeth
And my skin is someone else's.
I feel trapped and no one hears me.
Why do I feel like I am speaking an entirely different language than you?
If you could just be still for a little while maybe I could remember which direction I drove here in and actually make my way out.

Why do I continue to pour from my empty cup when everyone has warned me not to.
If someone asked me to jump off a bridge would I do it?
Maybe.
If someone dangles some temporary validation in front of me
I break out into an instant jog.
I am a tool used to boost egos
And heal wounds.
No one notices I'm just taking them and wearing them as my own.

And I am so tired.

The bones are breaking.

Sometimes when I'm all alone
And my heart has quieted to a whisper
You can hear them creak and groan
Like an old ship
That's carrying too much
And has crashed one too many times

It's okay to let your mess pour out over the loosely drawn walls you've placed around yourself,
An attempt to be safe feels good for the heart.
And even though it feels as if
The entire world is looking at what exposed itself,
It's not even true.
The only people who can see it
Are the ones who love you
And can clean it up everytime this happens.
Mess isn't shameful.
Mess is human