I’ve always been envious of the people who can so carelessly and effortlessly write down all their thoughts. How the words flow so easily onto a beautiful canvas making it full. Expressing myself has always been my biggest downfall. I never quite know what to say. I see myself as simple, average at best, and I wonder if that is why I am still alone. I wonder if my laugh was better, or my looks not so flawed I’d be worthy of love. I’d be worthy of the love people write about. A love that comes like poetry, so beautifully perfect. I strive to be someone’s Sunday morning instead of faceless men’s Saturday nights. I hope to be someone’s cup of coffee instead of their favorite liquor when they’ve had a bad day. And I think to myself how silly I must sound. How silly it must be for a girl like myself to want more than the norm, more than WCW posts, more than silly 3 am text messages when someone is just as lonely as I and needs to fill a space. I have to remind myself that I am more than just a space to fill but it becomes harder and harder when you recognize all the holes that need to be filled in yourself.

How does one make themselves softer when every part of them is so rough and hard? My memory has always been tainted, repeatedly forgetting birthdays and important dates but for some reason my mind doesn’t allow me to forget you. It doesn’t allow me to forget who made me the way I am. The one I never had but also the one who got away. The thing is though, we never had a chance and I knew that from the start. You were always going to be something that was unobtainable and I was like a wild horse, unable to tame, better on my own. I’ve always been that way in a sense. Never wanting to take orders from anyone but desperately wishing someone would care enough to try. I am a parody within myself, one that has no happy ending.

And what exactly is a happy ending? Fairy tales were never really something I strived for, I never wanted to be the damsel in distress but rather the dragon they fought, fierce, powerful, destined for destruction. But maybe that’s I am lonely, the princess always gets the prince and the dragon always gets defeated. I have a tendency to disappoint, it’s like disappointment flows through my blood stream, taking its time to blacken every part of my veins, my soul, my being. It’s terrifying not knowing who you are, spending countless nights awake wondering what type of person you are. Am I easy to forget? Is my face hard to remember? What do people say when they describe me to a stranger? What would I say? When I ask myself these questions I can’t describe the exact feelings, but I know something doesn’t sit right, and I know I am far colder than I should be. I am too cold for a 23 year old with her whole life ahead of her. I am too cold for a girl who hasn’t ever had to experience real pain, suffering, defeat.

And yet, I find myself so wrapped up in chaos. I strive for the beautiful words painted so flawlessly into lyrically unflawed sentences. I adore the way one can string words together so perfectly, making the damaged, awful, and terrifying things sound so attractive, so wonderful. I sit waiting for the days where the words I spew, make someone think “wow what a beautiful catastrophe,” but until then I just write about nonsense hoping one day, it’ll make sense, I’ll make sense, I’ll figure out just who I am supposed to be.