I come home alone yet again.

I tell myself time and time again that I do not need somebody to complete me - that I am perfect all on my own.

That doesn't mean I don't want to curl up next to someone at the end of the day and melt in their arms - to feel the safety net, the warmth and pure love of companionship.

Just like anybody else, I want that kind of love.

Sometimes I wonder if I shouldn't have been so selective. Maybe if I would have just "gotten used to his flaws" or "moved past his agressive tendencies" I would be in bed right next to you.

I know I deserve greatness. I am told this time and time again, so much so that I almost believe it.

But you know what my greatness is? It's being independent, strong, and brilliant while still knowing I can depend on someone. It's being brave, kind, and fearless while still knowing that someone will always be there to have my back. It's having faith, caring for others, and demanding nothing but the best and having the one who matters the most show me that even imperfections are perfect.

I want an ambitious love. One that shows the movies how to be. One that gives a new name to inseparable. I know it's a lot to ask for - which is why I am still alone. Maybe I ask too much or maybe too many people fall short of greatness in my eyes.

I demand nothing but the most perfect imperfections.

I want to write to inspire you, to show you, to lead you.

I want my words to take you to new continents and sail you across seas.

I want my imagery to paint such a masterpiece, you could reach out and feel the wind.

I want to keep you captivated by these letters in a combination no one has dared to try.

I want my poems, my stories, my thoughts, my dreams to be the ones you copy and paste, the ones you print and hang on your wall; not for fame and money but so that you see it every day and you are reminded that you are alive.

I want to show you how to smile again, how to face each day.

I want these lines to hold on to you, keep your tears from falling or help you let it all out.

I want my sentences to teach you how to love yourself again, how to be brave.

I want you to know, from my words, that there is nothing on this earth, in the entire complex universe, this endless sky of galaxies, that you can't be.


- t.s.

You are the color of a kiss,
passionate and complex;
A cold, tall glass of water
just after you've had ***

You are the color of a road trip,
with windows down and sunnies on.
The color of a love ballad,
or a fulfilling and perfect yawn

You are the color of a silk petal,
floating to the Earth,
A limited edition coin
and all that it is worth.

You are the color of adventure,
and freshly baked apple pie;
The color of snowfall on your face,
drifting down from the night sky

You are the color of paints
that stores just do not sell;
A sit-in or a marching protest,
fervent and raising hell.

You are the color of the strength
that arises with the dawn;
And when a king is overtaken
by a simple little pawn.

You are the colors found in everything:
extraordinary, nonetheless,
But more than all of that combined,
a fact I must confess;
You are the color of love and life,
with all that magic you possess.




- t.s.

**** this.
**** this whole.

I realize that there is more elegance and eloquence to vocabulary but right now the only works that can escape my lips are

**** this.
Oh. And *******, too.


Sitting here sick
Sick and **** tired of this **** that life keeps throwing my way.
And I just deal with it...
Because I 'have to'.

*******.

'Have to'


Why the **** do I 'have to' be here? I didn't chose this. I didn't ask to be alive, ask to be conscious. I don't want to be here. I don't want to do this. I don't want to wake up each day and breathe and live and work and cry and sleep.

Well...
Sleep.

I'll keep that one.
Its nice to sleep. There's nothing else to worry about. A sweet serene oasis of mine. A place where I don't answer to the **** of other people.

I give it back. All of it. It doesn't work right. It never did. It never will. People say that I should be happy for the things I have and I say to those people...

**** that.

**** your standards of what I 'should' do or feel or know. **** your opinion on how I treat myself. **** your decision that my life is worth saving because so what. I don't want it. I return it. Take it back and give the whole thing to someone else who wants it.

But make sure you ask them first. Ask them if they want this life. Ask them if they desire to drudge through each day just to make it to the next. Ask them if they want the self-loathing, air of desecration that lingers all around me. Ask them if they'd love to know, everyday, what it feels like to have people NOT choose you over and over and over again. Because I'm sure, if you ask them ...

They'll want to return this life, too.


- t.s.