Category Archives: Life

This Love Bullshit

I haven’t been making good choices where my heart is concerned. Sure, love and sex make for great poetry. The more complicated the relationship, the feelings, the better it sounds in rhyme. And when the pain hits, as it always will, there is nothing sweeter than writing it out. Oh, how we love to read that, amirite? But maybe I should stick with old memories of hurts, instead of making new ones.

Of course I can’t go into details about anything, because … well, I just can’t. But suffice to say I’m sick of the back and forth. I’m not blaming anyone but myself for the emotions I’m feeling. I know I am far too sensitive. I call myself weak constantly. Because of my anxiety issues, chiefly, but also when it comes to love. I love love. I love loving someone, giving to them what I have, what I can. And so I invest myself too quickly and too deeply, even when my head is screaming at me to stop. How often are any of us capable of listening to our heads when our hearts have already made up their mind?

This is one of the reasons I withdrew myself years ago. I couldn’t take the pain I inflicted upon myself with loving others. I don’t want to do that again, withdraw. But I have to be smarter. Cuz I am killing myself with this bullshit.


My Life, My Mess

It’s another cold and dreary day here in the Midwest.  And again, I’m sitting here wondering what the hell I’m doing with my life.

I once described my life as a thousand balls of yarn.  Unraveled, tangled, matted together.  Twenty years worth of personal issues that I feel compelled to tug at and unwind.  In frustration to throw on the floor and angrily stomp away from.  Always drawn back though, to sit and contemplate, pulling a string here here or there.

If I’m lucky, occasionally I’ll free a strand, and lay it out lovingly to admire.  Proud of my small accomplishment, I will smile and stroke it and give it a place of honor.  And then I’ll look back at the rest of the mess, and my heart can’t help but fall.  In loosing that one strand, I’ve tangled the knot tighter — and worse — I’ve left a mass of other strands exposed, taunting me.  Tempting me to pick and pull.

I’m screwed up.  My issues have issues.  You’ve heard it before from a million mouths, spilling through ten million fingers online.  Why is my mess so special?  Cuz it’s mine.  It’s mine to poke and prod.  To kick and hold.  To ignore, to abuse, to love.


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