visionary loser

an alternative to ennui

Tag Archives: love

Can I be your sun?

Dear Jack,

I’ve been incredibly unhappy the past little while. Here’s why: I’m scared to talk to you. That’s fucked up. I’m scared and I also don’t know how. I think I’m a good communicator, but with you I’m unsure. You make me feel so bad about myself. I’ve never LOVED myself, but I’ve never been as insecure with myself now as you’ve made me feel. I’m terrified that while reading this you’re either going to laugh at me and trivialize everything I say or you’re going to throw your hands up and be rid of me. I’m so so scared that I don’t even know if I’ll ever show you this…

I’m sorry.

I’m sorry I met you at a time in your life when you didn’t want to open your heart again to another person. I’m sorry I forced my way in there and built a nest in your heart with this beautifully naïve notion that I love you and you love me and everything is perfect. Because everything is not perfect. It’s hard to see the beauty in what you’re building when you’re surrounded by wreckage and ugly, negative darkness. I just want you to be happy with me.

——-

Jack, we really need to talk. We need to talk about the fact that I’m unhappy and that I don’t feel like I can talk to you maturely and rationally. You twist my words, make things about you – for once I would just like for you to listen.

You fucked me up. I have never been an anxious person and have never caused harm to myself so drastically until I met you. I’m done being empathetic and kind to those who have watched me suffer and added to my pain.

It’s so hard listening to you talk about Emily. So fucking hard. But I put up with it. At the end of the day, it wouldn’t hurt so bad if you didn’t feel like you needed to hide things about your hanging out together from me. By doing so, you just seem guilty. I will never forget that you “poked” her and brushed it off like it wasn’t a big deal. Because it was to me.

For a year I put up with your abuse – with you demonizing my kindness and the things people genuinely like about me. You made me feel worthless and now I feel worthless.

It sucks watching you bring pretty girl after pretty girl into your home. You are excruciatingly flirty and touchy in my presence and I don’t want to put up with it. You have the audacity to think I’d cheat on you? Boy, I was fucking devoted to you. I would move heaven and earth for you. The sad part is, I still would and I know it would go unnoticed and unappreciated. It’s too little too late to tell me you love me right after making me feel like garbage. That’s abuse – making someone feel trapped and shitty, yet saying you love them and cherish them a mere second later.

I’ve deduced that I was manic the year I met you. Dealing with a break up that felt forced and being pursued by you, all the while you telling me you wanted to be with me, that I was perfect, but fucking someone else. Not just someone else, someone who is your best friend. Someone you continued to fuck and canoodle with even after we were “together”. And I’m the crazy one for not being able to let it go?

I see you one-two times a week and you force me to hang out with people and in a space that is incredibly unhealthy for me and brings up old memories. I can never forget the time you forced us to “hug it out”. It felt like a fucking spectacle for your enjoyment.

I just want to be treated with respect. Stop undervaluing me – cutting off my words, interrupting me, being jealous of every person I talk to. I’m about to fucking snap because of it. And no, I am not on my period.

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Is this a realization?

March 24, 2017.

I can simplify anything. Overly complicated issues are a product of irrational, emotional people – they cannot see the way amidst the fog. It goes as follows: matters of the heart are complex and emerge from a sad place. You can romanticize longing and that feeling after sex when your worries melt away and all that you see are those brown eyes filled with… something. Begging me to know what that something is. But all I see is sympathy and compassion. Otherwise, everything else is enveloped in a thread-bare blanket. Mislead, I believe in its false protection and warmth. For that blanket is falling apart before my very eyes and I am too stubborn to let it go.

The times we are apart is when I love you.

The times we are together,

you exhaust

my love.

 

It hurts to be with you.

 

Is this what women warn each other about?

Why the feminine is associated with weakness?

Am I weak to want to be comforted and caressed by my abuser?

By the boy I love,

the cause of my cower.

 

You’ve pushed me to the edge.

Please don’t push my off again –

I barely survived

the first time.

 

Because if you do,

I will shatter.

 

Forever.

Filling me up

Do you ever just want to cry to release it all?

To make the pain of loving someone stop.

So you can be left at peace.

Cause I do every day.

And it never works.

 

At Peace

One day –

you will cease these false promises.

One day –

I will stop believing.

One day –

we will make it.

One day –

you will let me grow.

One day –

I will learn to.

One day –

we will be happy in our quiet tranquility.

I guess it’s February

I want to write about cigarettes. I want to make some profound allusion to my love for him. I want to talk about ashy kisses and yellowed fingertips. Metaphors of fire and smoke. Comparisons to books. Passion and the patriarchy.

But I find myself writing this: “Why do people romanticize cigarettes? They’re cancerous and smelly.”

Is it distasteful to state the obvious?

Irony.

This Time

Love comes creeping

Hauntingly

This time

Do you think of me (as I think of you)?

What do you think about at 4AM?

Do you think of me?

Of us?

I just want you to open up to me.

Open your heart, not just your arms.

I feel warm and content in your embrace,

but distance makes my body cold –

that’s when I think of you

and it makes me sad.

I think sadness is what chokes and extinguishes life

and I become a shadow of the person I perform.

We set ourselves on fire

A brazen, blazing passion

igniting such codependency

that they burned all the same.

By stoking this love

it had become as volatile as an inferno

threatening too much, they ended it.

Naughty little rendezvous

in the embers of what was

but ultimately, it needed to be tamed.

Put out before it devoured too much

for it had

it consumed his heart.

Fiery tempers and hot words

a jealousy that bloomed

and turned to ash.

They built a pyre

to sacrifice such sweet nostalgia

leaving behind an echo of incandescence.

Now he’s drowning his sorrows at the bottom of a bottle

swimming through salt and gasoline

such fervent ill-thoughts.

He lights a cigarette

and watches the smoke twist and dance –

There’s no extinguishing this bond.

Eskimo

Oct. 10, 2016.

This is a new kind of love.

I have experienced romantic love once before –

A pale, bony hand gripping my heart.

This physical manifestation trying to choke the beauty out of it,

Making me shudder violently with the pain of unabashed emotion.

This caring too much is driving me crazy.

My head taken from my shoulders and battered around like a fucking baseball.

My whole body disintegrating around me until all that’s left is my heart,

Pulsing with the illusion of us together.

I know you’ll choose her.

Every fibre of my being says so.

And yet, I still wait in anticipation hoping it could be me.

But would I really want it to be me?

I know it’s a complicated situation,

But would I want to be chosen between two?

To be chosen amongst millions makes me feel unique and special,

But to be chosen against one is…

Well, it just is.

And that sucks.

I love you and I want to protect you.

If that means doing as I am now, so be it.

It’ll be hard to see you with her,

But I’m stronger than I look.

Ultimately, your happiness outweighs mine.

I deserve nothing.