The concept of you scares me.
The thought of you picking at the thing I spent years constructing.
Piece by piece you get closer,
to me,
to what I try so hard to destroy.
Not understanding why I'm so reluctant,
why I, after so long, cannot do it again.

For I do not believe feelings can be mutual
I do not believe one can look at me and feel the way i do,
I do not believe, in certain light
that this concept of love exists.

I believe in wholehearted conversations,
and laughs underneath the gleaming moon.
I believe in strong friendships.
But for this to be everlasting,
for one to crave me as much as I crave them,
that is fictitious.

He said it was perfect, almost soothing.
Those were words I could not fathom, for I couldn't have felt more different.

Thunder struck and I shivered,
as a relaxed grin swept its way onto his face.
He reached out and welcomed me into his gleaming aura.
Lightening engulfed the once dulled sky once more, but I was unfazed,
my worry consumed by his warmth.

"Perfect" I whispered.

I'm uncomfortable.
I'm uncomfortable with myself,
my body,
even sometimes my own personality.
Nonetheless, you encourage me that there is nothing to be afraid of,
and that I'm beautiful, it's all just a part of human nature you repeat.
I cower, and you question why anxiety is winning a battle so easy for you,
making me feel so small against the giant inside my head.
But how can one scold me for my anxiety for feeling so uncomfortable with touch, and the physical presence of someone else, when emotionally i barely know anything about you.
You're uncomfortable with the way you feel, what you feel,
and how you feel of the ones around you.
How can someone make such comments on me being uncomfortable when emotionally your battle is just as great.
How can i feel so obliged to win this battle when on your end you're doing nothing but throwing sticks?
I can't let go if you yourself continue to build your skyscraper of a wall to the sun and back,
only questioning I as though you are not guilty to the same crime.
And that is why this will never be, we will never be.
If I have to scratch into your soul and pull out what's most precious to you, then I don't want it, because it clearly does not belong to me.
I want to be given the most difficult, treasured pieces of you without asking, without hesitation.
To be given this just because you love me and want to share your entire being with me.
That,
that is when i will do the same.

For the meantime,
I feel like a puppet being used as just an object at play.
To satisfy your needs as if I am deserving of no such thing.
How can one be so consumed in their own desires they cannot tell that the person they hold so dearly is suffocating in their own toxic sea of love they allowed into their heart,
slowly filling their lungs till it is too late to scream for help.
Dear it is not that i do not love you with all my being,
it is that you do not.

Perfection.
The common ground to most,
the ideal noun.
As we lay, this is the word I think of,
perfection.
But you have a different word,
a word very far from what I imagined,
and life begins to once again reveal its true colors.
My vision blurs as silence fills the air,
and we drift to sleep.

i hate you.
i hate that i care more deeply than you,
and miss more thoroughly.
i hate that you have substances.
i hate that substances make you tolerate a life without me.
i hate being away from you.
i hate that you don't even notice the time that passes when you're away.
i hate loving you,
Because i know it isn't the same for you.
i hate you.

Corners gleam,
as the cloak of transparency offers shelter.
Sunshine glazes over coffee cups,
the warm orange glow coating the smiles of strangers.
A land full a promise so feebly hidden away,
screaming for destruction.

Laughter fills the room as vibrations and auras
distract from a world full of animosity,
a temporary dome lasting just one more sunset.

The world muffles as a sweet melody
takes over.
Emotions emerge, yet old friends return anew,
and my mind wanders.

Going through the motions like I've programmed myself to do
a million times before,
what all once came so naturally to me, so robotic now.
The feeling of desirable connection dissolving into
the drops that patter onto my windshield.
Cuddled in the warmth, yet feeling soaked in the cold rain all the same.
I cannot pinpoint when exactly this leak formed,
but this rusty car is starting to give.

Its all in due time till this shelter wont do no good no more,
as a new home awaits my shivering body from this storm.