I'm insatiable  
I'm also soo fragile
with a uniqueness  all my own,
I am not superficial  and yet the contradiction would be paying bills on time and having material things matters  to me,
I have a vibrant will plus my spirits
strong too,
I love hard and fierce
I have ambitious desires  wants needs and goals,
I'm anxious  and have this deep longing,
an unquenchable thirst  almost obsession  like to express who
I truly am
yet
I'm
frighten ..
I want to be held yet don't always like being touched ,
I want conversation  yet like the peace of  quite,
I want to go out yet being in public scares me sometimes.
Somethings  make me shy even if I've done em  plenty of times,
Sometimes
I wanna eat out instead I'll  cook and then eat in bed,
I no longer wish to be a pet owner but no one will take care my half blind and semi deaf dog like me or any of the other 3
Who
like me have social anxiety,  
I like my independence  
but the
contradiction here is
I also
love being clingy  
I like kissing
yet rarely do and
when I do so I don't give my all, I want to learn knew moves  yet feel I know enough.
  I'm expressionistic; it may not be a word but it's the best way to describe  me
I want rough
***
but doubt I can go for hours
may not even last minutes
I also want to go slow ant take my time
learn something as I've previously  said.
I want gentle strong hands to keep me safe in their protectiveness
Let me be free in my mix of independence  & clingy
Accept  me
my tormented  brokenness
&
all my imperfections
I want to be more than why I am now and like most
I'M scared of changed
the scars
Run Deep
deep into my bones
Borne Into My Soul
meshing and mending into my heart
Even deep groves soaked into my broken pieces
like craving
deep into wood
deeper still to my roots
I want someone else to come do the work and fix me
Heal me
but knowing my journey
would make full grown men
run away  
I face this on my own.
I know I have to fix myself and heal
but who ever said
I'd have to do it
*Alone?

They call us survivors

I call us leftovers

They tell us we're heroes and deserve better than the hand life dealt us.

They use us as examples of inspiration and make shiny metaphors out of our trauma.

But.

But they never look at you long enough to see that you flinch when they reach, with greedy hands, towards you because to look at you too long would mean seeing the hand wrapped around your throat.

They are never around long enough to know that panic sets in while you shower and scrub at your skin until it's raw and bruised.

Sticking around would mean knowing that you were touched by Poison Ivy and they've heard it's contagious!

They don't watch when you're seventeen and crying into his shoulder, asking him to tell you he loves you, just so you can sleep because that would mean that maybe..you aren't that heroic afterall.

If they got too close they would see that you aren't surviving so much as submitting to being alive.

They sit on the edge of their seats gobbling up details about your so-called courageous story, eating up the nitty-gritty details because they know it will end in some form of you rises from the ashes.

But YOU didn't know that you'd be rising from the ashes when he was lighting his match.

When you tell them, you're still in therapy learning to breathe and count to ten, they have to realize bandaids don't fix gaping wounds, so they stop listening, notice the crows feet and crooked teeth,  and turn away because suddenly...you look like a victim