I just can’t

Beautifully broken, perfectly imperfect, openly guarded, a linear hyperbole, a blessed sin, a comedic tragedy...

These are all skillfully coined, simpleminded-thought provoking, dutifully poignant oxymoronic juxtapositions we assign ourselves as a Lewis Carrol-ian doorknob waiting to be turned and opened. We wait for someone to ask the all too tired question of who the hell we really are so that we can drown them in the deluge of our scarred souls with the selfish yet necessary goal to let them into our trastorned heart. We quietly beg and plead for them to take the blue pill or is it the red one, either way we want them to dive in, crash in and soak themselves in our irrefutably cracked yet real and genuinely beyond belief true being, true self. All with the single hope of them not just admiring but being intrigued, invigorated and maybe even mesmerized by all the light the shards of our broken psyche casts upon each of our words and actions. We want them to take an ear to our purposefully directed yet detour guided hints, our elusive yet everclear comments that really are just masks or rather opposite reflections of what we are really trying to say, without success. We strain, we recoil, we veer wildly off path all the while yearning for them to see...the real, the actual us behind that ill-fitting mask we’ve seared unto our parched skin waiting for the moment someone can delicately, dare I say lovingly peel away slowly but with fervor, with reassurance, with doubtless care, without judgment and without fear.

We foolishly assume they will know the way, the specific and order-reliant steps through the journey that is us. We presume they will take those steps with arduous intent and without their own painful experiences stinging their resolve.

We resign ourselves to the heartbreak induced, self-proclaimed destiny of hurt and loss because it’s easier to be a self fulfilling prophecy of not being worth it, of being betrayed, of ending up alone. We want the matrix to glitch because then it makes sense and we can keep up our guard on auto pilot and say we knew it would end this way. Because then we are prepared.

But what if it doesn’t have to be that way? Well we will never really know because our past has etched its words in our history before our present can even be charted. We’ve precursored our demise without even considering the rare but statistically quite possible chance no matter how small chance that it could be laughter and Love our fate and not tears and remorse.

Our once seemingly practical and self-preserving tactic of a guarded wall has ended up a destructive and confounding doppelgänger that has only one self deprecating purpose. But this is one we know, one we do not fear simply due to a sadistic comfort that tends to feed our inner monster that survives on the illogical idea that we are not worthy of a happy ending.

This monster bares it’s jagged teeth and wild eyes at every turn of a forehead kiss, at every touch that makes us catch our breath, at every burning look that causes us to shiver. It will not let its grasp up not even for that very instance where you might let that dangerous thought in. That fleeting thought of maybe, of perhaps, of probably not but just on the off chance...yeah, that one. So we continue on our crooked and well worn and quite honestly memorized and predetermined path of precaution. Lack of trust, lack of self confidence, lack of faith in ourselves-in others-in everything. It is this lack that fills the bucket of wasted time, of unreciprocated emotion, of unkept promises. This bucket we carry around day after day, year after year, weighs us down like a black cape not of super heroes but of shadows of who we once thought we would become. We can’t disrobe because then our souls would be naked, open to discourse and worse yet...open to unmasked Visibility and ultimately criticism.

So we play the long game hoping someone will catch our ruse and break through the odds to see us, to really see us, the us we know we are, the me that knows I’m worth it if you just took the chance. But Truth is you’ll likely see my tail lights before you see my true light because I’m better at the dash than the dine. And that’s ok because I’m not who you really want anyways. I’d never live up to your ex(es). I am over sensitive, over indulgent, under disciplined, under valued, my stomach is saggy and wrinkled, my face the same, my heart is overgrown and Irreparably scared, I‘m an ardent believer in love but just don’t count on in crashing into my life, I refuse to give less than all of me and yet am scared for you to take it all, so there it is. There’s no possible mathematical or scientific equation that makes this sound or safe for me and so I can’t possibly walk the line between you and I to the exit ramp that would lead to us. There’s just no way. I can’t. So I’ll play the part until my exit cue, and I’ll take the hand of that monster because although it’s head is ugly I know the end of the story And it’s one I’m comfortable with. You wouldn’t want me for the long haul anyways, of this I have a guarantee. And I’m already in too deep, too far to edge my way back into the armor that has grown weak and small. So now what.