What do you do when all you can do is float through days. You are not gone but you are not present. You exist yet you don't. You are not in your body. You drift, you float from one moment into the next, swayed by winds. Winds that are forces. One minute you are floating above solid ground and the next you are two hundred feet up in the air and you can't find your bearings and you flail and scream and cry and grasp grasp grasp grasp grasp grasp for anything for a foothold for a **** fingerhold but nothing. nothing. there is nothing. and then you are lying an inch above the ground. still not touching, but not flailing anymore. Why can't I feel the ground anymore.
to be Aware is to be unlucky.
to be not a casual person is to be Invisible.
to See is to be ignored.
to Hear is to be silenced.
to believe is to be repeatedly disappointed.
to be available is to never express yourself.
Why can a good thing not receive good in return?
I wish my awareness would bring peace. not turmoil.
I wish my depth would make human interactions easier. not halting and uncomfortable.
I wish someone would See Me.
I wish someone would Hear Me.
I wish I wasn't disappointed so very often.
I wish someone would give me time and space to express myself. and Listen. not tell me how to fix. I know. because I am Aware. but that doesn't mean that I don't feel it all. Every Excruciating moment. Every Agonizing emotion.
Why does being alive hurt so much?
Because feeling is what differentiates us, what it is to be alive
Because without the pain and the confusion and the anger we would not know the unbelievable joy and intractable Need to be with others. To see and be seen. to be chosen.
But what about those who no one sees. the ones who people glance at and assume they understand so they never look again. those ones are everywhere - the wallflowers, yes, but also the ones you assume everyone sees. i am one of them. because of how i look. something i had very little to do with. and yet it labels me in the eyes of others. i am _ so I must be _. people assume.
I am waiting for someone who doesn't. who takes time and asks questions and opens to me as well. those I shall choose to spend time with. Stop and enjoy the music in the street, there's no rush. notice the beauty. in the bark of a tree. a leaf caught in the wind dancing down the lane.
I know that I am waiting. I am aware.
But what the f*ck.
I'm doing the work, I've done so much.
I love me and I am excellent at being alone.
So where is my person?
I yearn so desperately to begin with them.
But what if I'm too good at being alone?
God's timing is not our own
And you know that when it happens
(should it happen)
you'll say, "Yes, Lord, you were right!"
Because He is God
I know, my love. I'm sorry.
Why does being alive hurt so much
my life is wonderful and yet
I sit here and I feel nothing
I feel lost
in what, I don't know.
There is so much out there and so much in me
they cannot Be simultaneously
I don't wipe my tears away anymore
I want to-
I need to feel them as they fall
from the burning in my eyes and nose
to the droplet escaping
over my cheekbone
down down down
following different paths
I feel them all
I feel them now
they are joy and confusion and anger and rage and frustration and sorrow and mourning and peace incomprehensible
It’s a twisting in my chest, an ache. I feel the absence on my skin, I feel it. I yearn. For something that very may well be nonexistent. And yet I cannot stop hoping. But the hope kills me. The ache is still throbbing. Aching. Aching.
It hurts to yearn.
Physical touch. Skin is so sensitive, so many nerve endings. Humans long for touch - to feel skin, warm, life, stories - to have their own felt. It connects us to others. without it we drift.