what is it that you’re looking for here in this wasteland?

when i was younger i found the boys who would grow up to be men like you and i would sink my fingers into their hearts, not caring about the jagged glass that was cutting me the whole. way. down. i found them and i tried so very hard to twist them into mine, i tried to be everything. once, i succeeded.

no one wants to hear those stories.

how many times i’ve been looked at and all they can say is, “i don’t know how you did that”. and the answer is, universally, neither do i.

it’s not an honor to better someone else when you do it at the cost of everything that lives inside you. just once could one of you stop with the pleading and the imploring and the thanks for a moment, long enough, to notice that i do not exist to make. you. better. i am not a goddamn vessel for your worry fear anger anxiety and how, how did you see through to my own emptiness when i dress up every day in this facade of “don’t fuck with me”. mostly though, i don’t want your accolades. they remind me of what i’ve lost.

eventually, even the masochistic among us tire of vampirism, and what appeared to be bonding and love is revealed for what it is. eventually, you leave, and over time it all feels like it happened in a different life. i’ve had four lives now.

the past three are echoes. they’ve been reverberating a little stronger lately, and perhaps it’s a sign of growth that i know their sound families and i can feel their pull but say, “ah. there you are. i think maybe not, this time”.  and i will keep walking, and they will get fainter. and fainter.