Seasons come and go,
years float by
and the earth keeps on turning.
But for me to grapple with the fact
that I am no longer sixteen
and hopelessly, desperately in love
or how I am no longer 14 and
believing myself to be immortal,
is much, much harder then I ever thought
it would be.

there are two sides to this coin.

The first side could be my pessimism,
and maybe its just my mind playing tricks on me.

The other side could be that this is reality.
That i truly am impossible to love.

No day will be heaven,
if I don't find a problem I will cause one.
My emotions are oceanic-
unpredictable at best.
I don't speak well,
and don't think before.
I don't know if I can fully love you.
I can be obsessive and distant at the same time.
Physical contact is sometimes suffocating,
blame that on drunk men,
and I'm apathetic.

will the love of my life even want me?
to say I am a late bloomer would be
understating it, slightly.

do I even want me?
how can I morally give myself to someone,
and force that burden on them.

I've always been a flight risk

If I wanted it, it could have been perfect.
Not romantic, but fun and casual.
Just a casual hook-up, no strings attached.
I'd leave in the morning with a spring in my step,
and a smile on my face.
Or you'd wake me up with coffee, or hold me close.
And I'd feel warm, and safe.

But I didn't want it.
I didn't want your hand burning my skin, nor your
face pressed near mine.
I didn't want to see you or feel you
or know you.
Why didn't I speak up? Tell you no?

Would you have stopped?

I had never kissed you with such passion
you had remarked later on whilst i lay on your chest.
It was so different,
had something changed?
I smiled and shook it away
too timid to tell you that you tasted of nicotine
and i had given up.

Nothing stings me more,
or swells the bile deep within the pit
more than the realization
that i can never be sure of anything.
I don't know you, or her or anybody.
If I drop a penny I can't be certain it will land.
I desperately want control, yet I won't ever have it.