Let me put it this way-
If you could touch
God's face,
Wouldn't you?

Tomorrow I will ask for your forgiveness until you hate me for being sorry.
(Tonight I will struggle to turn my anger at you into the repentance you will resent in the morning.)

I wake up every morning hating you.
And then, every day, I forgive you.
I work hard to forgive you.
I bleed tears to forgive you.
And you have no idea.

It's not just mornings, either.
Sometimes I hate you in the afternoon.
Sometimes it's when I get a moment alone in my room,
And I just wish you were there,
So that I could take you by the shoulders and scream,
"LOOK AT ME!"
Sometimes I write you letters that I throw away,
About how when you told me you weren't a good person
I already knew
And how this doesn't surprise me
And how I hate myself for not minding.
Sometimes I hate you at night, too,
And those nights are the nights I dress well
And go out
And find somewhere with loud music to pound the loathing
Right out of me.

Because I hate hating you,
But it happens every ******* day.
Oh, you have no idea how hard I work
To stop hating you.

But mostly,
Mostly it happens in the morning.
Mostly I wake up with a chaotic ball of tears and rage sitting
Just under my sternum, in that little hollow spot
Like barbed wire all crumpled up.
It wakes me up at 6
When my alarm is set for 8
And I wish I could scream into my pillow
But I never do
Because it would wake my roommate
And because there are two things I never shed for someone who ignores me:
Tears
And screams.
So I grit my teeth and try to steal back my morning rest
And I toss and turn and curse and
Imagine
What I'd say to you
If I had the nerve to tell you that
You're a fool, and that
Everyone I love
I hate just as much
And that this was why I used to cry when I'd look at you
Because I didn't hate you yet and I knew
These days were coming and I just wanted
More time,
And that they all could have had just the love
If they hadn't tried to get rid of it
For "my sake"
And that they've all tried before and failed and so I know
That you're never going to force me not to love you-
You're only going to force me
To wake up at 6 am
When my alarm is set for 8.

And eventually I get up,
Fuming,
Knowing you'll still be on your crusade to **** this up
To make yourself unimportant,
Knowing that no matter how unprepared you are to be important
You have no choice,
But you think
You do
And so I get to deal with your headlong escape attempt
From an imaginary prison
And wake up suffering at 6 am
When I could be asleep until 8 and then

I spend all day
Carrying that tangled, seething ball of hurt,
And breathing deep and smiling serenely at it
Like it's a child,
Because I'll be ****** if I'll let it have any more of my life,
And
I spend all day
Forgiving you for every moment when I am not worth the effort it takes
To press down a few simple keys and say hello,
And
I spend all day
With your silence and my memories
Trying so hard it hurts
Not to hate you more,
And you
*Have no idea.

She just...
Walked into my life and ransacked my heart and now I don't know where to put anything.

There are no more flowers
To find in the grass and offer up
To you,
As if this land
Is already preparing for you to leave it,
Blighting any lingering blossoms
With lacy frost.

For better or worse, you are on my skin,
And if I never see your face again,
I will see it every time the sun rises,
And if you hate me for that,
I will love you for burning me.
After all, I do so hate the cold,
And it's a little too late for me to see the flames of hell,
But I imagine
God
Will still have me-
The god that lives in your skin and in your name and behind your eyes,
And before you condemn me for a liar, remember
That I hold no religion dearer than this:
That divinity is everyone I love,
And that god, as the most beautiful being in existence,
Is also the most
Devastating.
For better or worse,
My calling you sacred is not flattery.
It is the acknowledgement
That you are everything, and that everything is you,
And that I choose to worship that,
Even though I harbor no doubt that it will **** me.
That is what god does.
God creates, and god destroys.
And we love it.
And I love it.
And I
Love you.

No matter how gently I try to do it
Willingly walking away from you always feels like
Cutting the ropes that tie a ship to shore.

You know, you can say I don't know how
To be happy
That I don't love right
That I'm too complicated and too raw
That I'm
Crazy.
Hell, you've said that a billion times.
{You
Are the reason I began to say it along with my name
To new people I meet-
A handshake and a disclaimer.}
You can think
Whatever you want about me.
Maybe I am insane. Mad. Delirious.
******
Up.
Maybe I'm damaged.
Who am I to contest your diagnosis?
But I do have this to say-
Although I love you,

I'd rather be like this than like you.

I just want to give you something.
Something you want.
Something that will make you smile and look at me like you did when I said I loved your hands.
Sometimes I can breathe through the desire to give to you, remain calm, remind myself
That there will be days for that.
But sometimes...
Sometimes it crashes over me, a craving more intense than anything I've ever felt,
To give to you, to love you-
Now, this second, yesterday!
Never close enough, never big enough, never enough love for you- never!-
And I could easily be torn apart by how much I want to give you everything I am.
It is this feeling that drives me.
This is why I leave you flowers.
This is why I give you gifts.
This is why I tell you you're beautiful as many times as you will hear it, and gaze at you like you're the rising sun.
I crave to give to you,
Anything, everything,
All.
And that should scare me.
But it only makes me feel alive.

I've always found it fascinating
How
The quickest way to earn your ire
And drive you away
Is just to say
"You're saving my life."

I hold time in my hands
And let it slip
Grain by grain
Like sand.
I am cautiously letting go
Doubtfully watching it slide
Through my fingers
In an ever larger river of silky minutes,
Hours, days.
I hold time in my hands
And I thought that if I wasted it
I'd regret it,
But you've been silent for so long
That nothing is a waste anymore.
Nothing is more of a waste of me
Than holding onto every second
As if the next will be the one
You say something.
I don't want this mistook
For progress.
When I stop caring
It is never progress,
It is always ruin.
It is always
A waste.
But, frankly, I am tired
And so passionately loving every moment
Of every day,
And suffering so bravely
To love you with those moments
Has sapped me,
Has finished me
For now.
And so I hold time between my fingers
Like a handful of sand
Lazily scooped up from the seashore
And scattered warm on the wind
And nothing
Can really get to me.
Just for now.

People tell me, more often than I usually admit, that there is something more meant for me.
Something more.
That's quite the statement. A very nice statement. But...what exactly does "something more" mean? What is this beyond I'm supposed to be on the cusp of finding? This higher existence, this ultimate place that I'm supposed to end up in and build my life from?
I get hurt, or rejected, or just plain forgotten, and people tell me "You deserve something more than this."
Do I?
I walk through my life, ordinary, just trying to muddle through and people say, "Oh, I think you're meant for more than this."
Am I?
And what, exactly, is there that is more than this? This something, beyond the confines of my current life. Pardon me for saying, but... I can't imagine more than all this. So I haven't got the girl. So I haven't got the job. So I haven't got the fame.
Yet.
Does that really mean I need something more? I thank the people who tell me it does. But my life goal is not finding something more than I've got. My quest in this world is to somehow accept and be happy with what I am, do, and have, already. Somehow, someday, I will find a way to be completely content with my life as it is, for all it lacks and for all my regrets and mistakes. For all the people who have overlooked or scorned me, I will rise above it inside myself.
I don't think there is more, honestly. This is it. This is my life. I'm glad I seem to deserve the world, and I'm glad to be told so. But I've got the world. My world. And I want to travel it, live in it, and become, somehow, comfortable in it. In my skin. As I am, without always grasping for more than I already have. Sure, I've got my dreams, my plans. And they're things that I very well could find and have in my time here. But...something more? Something more.
I'm not sure I want the pressure of "something more."
I think, if it's meant, the indefinable thing all these people are talking about will fall into my lap, and I'll be ready for it, because if it does, it won't be something more. It'll be the rest, the rest of what I already have.
And I'll be complete.

Every time I see a photo of you
I think you are the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.
And every time I see your face in person
I realize that you are so much more than even
That.

And in the end I always knew you'd make me glad I treated every moment I got to look at you as the very last one.
That is one thing I did learn from last time.
And now, I can at least be sure that I didn't waste a second with the person I love.
All of you, if you love somebody, treasure every minute you spend with them.
Every word they speak.
Every shadow that paints their face in the dark.
Treasure everything.
Say the things you'd say if this were your last chance to speak to them
Every time you speak to them.
Why? Because you don't know.
You just don't know.
Life is cruel. People are cruel.
The hard truth is that if you love someone, what it really means is that your days with them are
Numbered.
The hard truth is that every second with someone you love could be the last one. So
Don't
Waste
ANY of them.
Not even one.
Humans are so very temporary, for so many silly reasons.
They are so very transient.
If you love one, god help you.
If you love one, worship the time you get with them.