Sunday, July 09, 2006

i walk the world with a skin so thin i can wear no adequate protection everything comes crashing in


"i want to do with you what spring does with the cherry trees"


these lyrics keep running through my head this weekend as both depression and desire for relationships and intimacy consume my unguarded self. i want to find rest in the arms of another one who has harder skin and larger arms, one who can up hold the world. my world because i don't think i can do it any longer even in the midst of telling everyone "i can", "i'm fine" and all the other brush off's i have in my repertoire of illusion. i am great at not sharing my pain, not allowing others to enter in...great at keeping it seemingly together as my world falls apart. i am also so good at keeping my desire locked off...not reaching out and fighting for what i want or need. i am not a fighter i am a surivior...a strong woman who doesn't know how to ask for help, to fight for love or admit my need. i am a boiling pot left on so long that anyone who removes the lid will find themselves scorched by the intensity of what is there.

We are going from complete control to chaos. From abstaining to carrying bottles to destroy our need. Binges worse than the fasting. Why are you so scared to speak your desperate need? Does that mean that you are less the beautiful woman you were? You are always beautiful and strong yet that strength right now means acknowledging your need. Will you fall off of the wall like humpty dumpty and shatter everything.

these words written about anothers struggle seem to become more about me tonight more about my battle tonight...


In the emptiness of music and my apartment I find you escaping out of my thoughts again. There is a void eating out of my insides and crushing the light hope. My restraint is greater this time than the want, the need to reach out for you. Instead I chase the ghost of you across websites and unfinished stories. Finding my sadness echoed in the songs of the beautiful people. They the beautiful people become those false gods of imagery that against my better judgment I wish to be like. All my passion as been zapped out by the emptiness of love and I don’t believe in my beauty anymore.


and the emptiness of my desire...i want to find rest and like always when i am tired rest resembles the arms of man. and i might be humpty dumpty about to fall off the wall.

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