i wish i was like those girls in the movies. who are so different and interesting and have qualities that make guys fall in love with them. i know those are movies, and this is real life, but that doesn’t stop me from wanting that. it’s sad because my entire life, the only thing i stressed about was my looks. i’ve always compared myself to other people looks wise. it’s not that it stopped, because if anything it’s just gotten worse, but now i find myself comparing my personality..? that’s ridiculous i wish i was the type of person who could be alone and examine things for what they are and be able to marvel at how beautiful the world is. i don’t ever do that. my mind is constantly cluttered when i’m alone and i’m completely incapable of allowing myself to take in the beauty of something. i was walking alone in the dark today and it hit me how completely pointless the thoughts going through my head are. they all just stem from stress stress stress and sadness and “i wish i did this” and “i regret this” and “i shouldn’t have done this”. those are the most frequent words in my thoughts. then i finally decided to stop and just take everything in. i finally noticed how the stars actually were visible tonight. even though i feel like they never are in new york city, when it’s probably just my obliviousness to anything beautiful that won’t do anything superficial for me. the only time i appreciate anything is with other people. i am completely dependent on other people in order to be a version of myself i am somewhat content with. i don’t know if that makes sense, but, yeah. i wish i was the same person alone as i am with normal surroundings and people and being completely distracted.
«Here is what I know:
You drink your coffee black and we are afraid of each other.
Once you kissed my neck in front of your friends
and it made me very shy.
Once you kissed my stomach and I started crying.
I see the tender way you touch things and want to kiss your nose
but I keep my mouth to myself.
Your collarbones are craters big enough to fit my fist into.
You are the most beautiful thing I’ve seen in months.
I was not good to the last person I loved so I punished my heart
(I let it break and bleed out then roughly sewed it back together)
It is hard to write poems when I only know how to fuck you.
I am always trying. I am thinking of Somedays. I am saying goodbye.
You asked why I never write anything honest so I am writing you this.»