there’s something akin to nuts and bolts in my heart, i think.
sometimes i wonder if it’s made out of stone,
or if it’s a machine.
feelings are messy —
and even though the world gave them names,
i can’t match the descriptions,
so i just rename.
something within sometimes pinches too hard.
i’m left wincing,
rubbing at my chest
as if it’ll soothe my past.
i intend to move on — that, i do —
but i can’t put it into words,
can’t explain why i am just because.
"i wasn’t always like this" —
but this?
i don’t know which version of me i speak of.
i’m worried.
deathly worried, more so.
but i just want to keep existing,
’cause —
what if there’s someone out there
willing to oil up these corkscrews in my brain,
have it speak to my heart,
make it make me speak —
and spell it all out?
i intend to find a love.
a mate.
’cause if i was born with something that intends to hurt,
i can’t believe
i was born without someone
who intends to heal
and aid.
May 24, 2025
May 24, 2025 at 2:22 PM UTC
there’s something akin to nuts and bolts in my heart, i think.
sometimes i wonder if it’s made out of stone,
or if it’s a machine.
feelings are messy —
and even though the world gave them names,
i can’t match the descriptions,
so i just rename.
something within sometimes pinches too hard.
i’m left wincing,
rubbing at my chest
as if it’ll soothe my past.
i intend to move on — that, i do —
but i can’t put it into words,
can’t explain why i am just because.
"i wasn’t always like this" —
but this?
i don’t know which version of me i speak of.
i’m worried.
deathly worried, more so.
but i just want to keep existing,
’cause —
what if there’s someone out there
willing to oil up these corkscrews in my brain,
have it speak to my heart,
make it make me speak —
and spell it all out?
i intend to find a love.
a mate.
’cause if i was born with something that intends to hurt,
i can’t believe
i was born without someone
who intends to heal
and aid.
like the cinnamon girl by lana del rey
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