Someday I will pull myself out of this hole.
It won't be dark, and I won't be afraid.
Someday I will be happy, and free, and think of you only fondly.
I will have success.
I will fall in love again.
I will love things I never thought could I love again.
I will want to get up.
I'll want to do it.
I know I will carry on.

"So I will live life day by day, and let each moment pass right through. And as the hours pass away, I won't forget to think of you. And if you're with me, I will smile, and if you're not, then I'll smile too."

Lets call it a day.
I can't follow.
You blind me.
You twist and make shapes I don't recognize.
What is time, and space, when you are with me?
It does not exist.
And with you in another place there is too much of it.

There is too much time, and too much s p a c e.
Although I have removed you before, I have to put you back each time and look at you, like the book you can't touch, but your mother kept on the shelf within your reach anyway.
And it is just time and space.
I sit there and I look at it.
There must be a day that will come when it will break and shatter loudly around me.
And it could only be sweet relief.

Good Intentions

I believe people assume that I am confident because I am outspoken.
I am only outspoken by nature.
I have so many quirks, and things about me that just aren't attractive, and I have a love hate relationship with these things.
Sometimes I embrace them, and sometimes, I just want to be with someone again, and then I start to wish I were different. Lately, I've been extremely attracted to someone in particular, but I have the sinking feeling that said person doesn't find me attractive in any way, shape or form. And I am constantly feeling this need to change. It makes me think of everything I am, and how when it's all there, in front of me, together, I don't always like it.

I don't brush my hair.
My skin is always broken out.
I'm failing math.
I take 30 mg's of Prozac every day, because I've been diagnosed with depression.
I'm overweight.
I have Trichotillomania.
I see a therapist.
I wear glasses.
My teeth are yellow sometimes.
I lose a lot of things.
I break a lot of things.
I get angry often.
I cry over extremely petty things.
I'm very jealous.
I wear too much makeup.
My eyeliner never looks good.
My breasts are way too small.
Writing is my passion, but I secretly want to be a truck driver.
I'm possessive.
I'm sensitive.
I can forgive on occasion, but I never forget.
I'm way too empathetic but I'm afraid people will think I'm self-righteous if I talk about it.
I'm judgmental but I try to love people.
Sometimes I feel like a bad person.

"I myself am made entirely of flaws, stitched together with good intentions."