Sometimes

Sometimes there is an anger or sadness or fury inside that wells up out of nowhere. No, it is not from nowhere, probably the exhaustion from nonstop travel, but it doesn't come out of the blue. That is for sure. It is dizzying and consuming and somewhere recently you have wanted to cry out for attention.

Help. Love. Love me. Accept me. Hold me. Why aren't you worth it? Why do you not believe you're worth it? How can you ever heal and move past this and feel comfortable in your own skin?

A moment of bliss. Pure happiness. Where there is honestly not a single shred of darkness. You hold onto this moment dearly and enjoy it, do others enjoy these moments as you do?

That is the root of it, though, isn't it. The pursuit of happiness and longing for acceptance. The nagging fear of being laughed at, not with, not in the way you want. You make a fool of yourself to see a glimpse of a smile. You withdraw when you feel a moment of exclusion. You run.

You want them to notice you are no longer there. See the emptiness. Is it them or is it you? Who are you more angry with anyway, yourself for not being good enough or them for not loving you.

It started at an early age, before you can really remember, but most likely around 5. You, the loner. That marking, ugly word. The girl on the swing. Oh, you idiot. It probably started from not being invited to play a game and you never fucking got over it. You replayed every fucking word that came out of your mouth, of theirs. What should you have said differently. Who should you have been instead.

You show your true self, that dark, quirky, giddy side. That total oddball weirdo that you are proud of. One second of doubt and you recoil. Don't they know how hard it is to be yourself. It is a daily conscious decision.

Sometimes it is easier to hide. To cover yourself in darkness and self pity.
You want to cry out, pay attention to me, love me. You fear the worry of your family. You fear the others will tire of you. Nobody wants to be around someone who craves love.

You question everything. Did you run. Will you ever be whole. Will you ever be loved in the way that you crave. What could you have done to be included. What should you have looked like to keep his attention.

To be wanted. Oh to be wanted.
A song runs through your head. I want you to want me. I need you to need me.

But you refuse to change. You are proud. Proud of who you are. Aren't you? Fuck you for not seeing me for me. It is a paradox. You are submerged in a life of contradictions.

Are you attracted to danger, or are you genuinely curious? Can it be both? When you walk into the the lion's den, does it matter why you're there? Only that here you are, half hoping you will see something terrifyingly beautiful and eagerly awaiting that feeling of your heart in your throat. Will it see you? Will it recognize a lost soul wandering? When it rips you apart, do you regret romanticizing all of this?

And finally, that nagging question: would you, the one I hold onto so fiercely, have turned out differently if I had been better?