I'm not sure I trust anyone with the whole entire part of this. But I feel I need to tell someone.

will you listen, my friend, even though this piece is not a poem?

My friends feel a little too distant, but I think that is how i see them, not how they really are. They make me feel bad, but i'm pretty sure that's my fault too- do I take them too seriously? Or do they mean what they say...I don't remember.

My ex still haunts me. I don't wanna call it emotional abuse and i don't want my mum to tell me I'm depressed and have anxiety and that's what the panic attacks are. In fact, I want to say it's my fault and am being silly, as always. I don't wanna admit the nightmares are underlying issues, because I'm scared anyone I tell won't take me seriously, or will treat me different. But I am different.

My boyfriend...gosh I love him. But I feel bad that I feel bad when I have him on my arm, when i look into his eyes, when he smiles, and his face lights up as though having a good waking dream...and says he loves me. All I can manage is a half smile and an I love you too, which i do! But my love doesn't carry into the words, I am too tired and sad (but only this past two weeks, don't get me wrong.)

If I were to be entirely honest I kinda wanna cry everywhere and tell everyone i hate them but i love them and will stop hating them soon. But I don't know if I would stop.

So you tell me, how does one struggling, feeling inadequate, wishing she wasn't so ****** 'perfect' to everyone...how does she ask for help? And could you possibly give it?

Because sometimes us poets are far from wise.

I hate nature sometimes.
Like sugar plum fairies
We dance
Around each other
Waiting for something to happen
Over power. Over woman.
Falling to our primal instincts
We are better than that
We are more than that
I hate it.
The way we are stubborn.
We are too busy fighting.
Fighting time
Fighting fear
Fighting death
Fighting each other
The hands of the clock ticks away
Death wraps its warm arms around us
But that I suppose is why we dance

First there is the prep.
The roommate.
Wearing salmon colored pants.  
He has Shaggy from ****** Doo
On his left thigh.
The alcoholic.
She has a drinking problem.
She is in denial of her drinking problem.
She hangs out with the loners.
The loners.
Unkempt, unattractive and fat in all the wrong places.
The blond looks like Tom Petty.
The one with dark hair, glasses and braces
They live next door.
Living together but segregated. 
Wild cards.
All of us.

©Gambit '13