Alone

I was always alone, or at least, it felt that way. I never had to let anyone in the way I have to let you in. Two decades of trying to come to terms with the fact that, at the end of the day, all that was left was me, twenty years trying to stop hating myself for the person that I am, and maybe fifteen years of telling myself I was impossible to love, can make it hard to believe in anything you tell me. It was always just me. I was never coddled, never really told it was OK to be wrong, to be misunderstood, to be imperfect, to be human. Every time I fell, I had to brush it off, " Don't cry," they told me, "It will hurt more if you do." I could be bleeding and holding my own heart in my hands, and it would be expected of me to stuff it back in my chest and soldier on. I expected it of myself. 

I made myself seem like I was strong enough to stand on my own, that I was my own fortress, my own guardian, my own battalion. I have stood on my own for so long, trying my best to hide my softness from the world. It worked. It worked so well, I forgot how to be soft for a while, forgot that feeling was something you needed to do. Then heartbreak after heartbreak happened, and I steeled myself even more, and withdrew my emotions from the world; all it did was hurt me, and I would have rather hurt myself, at least I knew how much pain I could take. So that's what I did, I bruised and battered myself to the point of oblivion, and hated myself so much I could barely look in the mirror.

Then one day I woke up, and decided it was enough. It was time to heal, finally, to learn how to accept the scars and the faults, and the mistakes. But, oh, what I wouldn't give for a moment to rewrite a few endings. I was beginning to accept myself, but I still had all the defenses up.  I still had to protect me from the scrutiny of society, shield myself from the judging eyes. I kept everyone out, while I healed and tried to believe in myself again. Then all of a sudden, there you were; and I wanted you. I wanted you. It was so strange. I tried not to, you know, tried my hardest to let you go, brush you off like I did with so many others. But there you were, and you were so kind, and sweet, and kind of indifferent and aloof, and I liked you. You saw through everything, the walls, the steel, the armies and the wall of fire, you saw through it all. So here we are.

But old habits die hard, and I'll distance myself every now and then, and doubt everything you tell me, because I still have difficulty loving myself, so how could you love me? There will be days when I want to be alone, but please understand, I'd love to be alone, and together, with you. I need my space and my independence, but I also need you there when I'm done being idiotic. I just need to breathe, sometimes, and it's terrifying for me to discover that I'd rather be breathing with your arms wrapped around me and my head on your chest. It's scary how much power you already have over me, how my heart clenches at the thought of losing you; and here I am still telling everyone it isn't serious. Who am I kidding? 

I love being alone, but now, I'd rather be alone with you.

All We Are

What am I?
A girl stuck in a woman's body, trying to make sense of whatever society throws at her.
Who am I?
Someone trying her hardest not to settle for a dead beat job, trying her best not to forget all the ambitions and dreams she hammered into her bones all those years ago when the world was more beautiful and forgiving.
Where am I?
Chained to a desk and imprisoned in a town I promised I'd leave and never return to; digging my grave in a relationship I've already stamped an expiry date on.
Why?
Because if I give in now, I'd never forgive myself. If I give in now, I'd never be able to live with myself, with the questions and the "what ifs". I'd end up like my mother, and that's my worst nightmare.

What are we all, anyway? Except stardust that was pulled together by gravity and fate all those years ago? What are we? Shreds of souls patched and stitched together with ectoplasmic glue or whatever.

What am I?
A bleeding, broken, vessel of sadness whose galaxies spilled out and emptied long before you met me. A broken doll with a painted on smile and a broken heart. A victim of society and the world, carrying every cross they have asked me to bear because... because once upon a time I couldn't say no, and I still can't.