Poetry: The Problem

The problem is that I can see it, not that I can't.
I can imagine saying yes and staying true.
I can imagine being close with you.
I can imagine giving all of myself to you.

The problem is not in our proximity but on my fears.
I fear getting close to others.
I fear embracing what I feel.
I fear where my feelings lead.

The problem is not in our differences, rather we are the same.
I know just how close we can be.
I know just how far I can take you.
I know just how you think for I understand me.

The problem is
me.

I give you labels that you can't fit under
In hopes that they'll limit your control over my heart.
I tease you so that you'll never know
The ways that your idiocy makes me appreciate you.
I trust you with dumb secrets in hopes that
Your reliance upon them to define me would end your quest.

For some dumb reason...
I like you.

I don't want to.

Your mannerisms irritate me.
Your outlook on life depresses me.
Your figure displeases me.
Your views on who I am sadden me.
Your smell disgusts me.
Your past of traveling disheartens me.

But when you smile and look at me
But when you do what you hate for me
But when you get dragged along on one of my crazy adventures

I think for a brief second...

Life with you could be good.

And I can picture it.
How we would be together.
What we would do.
How we could change each other.
Our plans.
How we should make life better.

And it scares me.

Do you see me that way?
Of course not.
Is it at all realistic to want that?
Of course not.
Would it be worth my time?
...

I'm not what you want.
Not what you need.
We could be together but
Who would that help?
What reason would I have?
It's illogical.

So.

The problem is thus.
Am I overthinking a strange friendship
or
Ruining my chances at a life with you
or
Causing myself harm by always putting myself into these situations?

I friend those I can become too close to
Then ruin our proximity with feelings
To end up all alone and abandoned.

I friend those who will never love me.
So even as I type this, I know.

The problem is that I have a problem
That you'll never see.

Poetry: You See Love

You asked me for a life story, and I only told you a list of some negatives.
I ambiguously said I crossed a gray line that should have been black.
I said that life was rough.
But.
I never told you of the times that I smiled in the sun,
Or felt that my family and I were one.
I failed to mention and you did not question
My convictions of loyalty
And why they exist.

I didn't tell you that my bad times were only poor
And my memories are flooded with good, overwhelming any trace.
I didn't tell you that my issues were all on me, as they always are...
As my emotions always get in the way of rationality.

I didn't explain that my family is my blood
And that even the ones I am far from,
I would die for.
I didn't explain that my family is my cornerstone
And that lacking even one
Would crush me.

You want some truth, boy?
Do you really want to know who I am?
You say I'm hiding from myself,
But that's only half true.
I'm scared of myself.
I live in constant terror of becoming what I fear the most.
Me.

My family has a history of depression
Honestly I think I have it too.
But I'm so scared of showing symptoms
That I go out of my way to be outrageously extraverted.
To always be others' beacon of sun.
I've seen what depression does, up close, personal.
I don't want to be seen like one of its victims.
I don't want to be locked up, treated, abused, and pitied.
So I pray to God that he'll give me the strength
To get the day through without faltering a smile.

I fear the quiet.
In the quiet, thoughts creep into my head,
Mocking me.
Telling me straight what I always fear to be true.

I am useless.
I am unloved.
I am a bother to others.
I am not smart enough to fake it much longer.
I am not smart enough to not fake it.
I am easy to forget.
I am abused and mistreated because my needs are so counter to everyone.
The introverts think I'm too energetic.
The religious think I'm too outgoing and materialistic and promiscuous.
The jocks think I'm lazy and lack interests.
The TV fans think I'm sheltered.
The sheltered think I'm insane.
The insane avoid me.
Everyone avoids me...
When's the last time someone approached me and not the other way around?
I can't even remember because it was so long ago.

I long for comfort
For warmth
For acceptance
For love
To be the cause of someone's genuine smile.
I long for happiness
For understanding
For grace
For peace
To be a beacon for the Lord.
Yet I fear I am not meant to be.

I long to connect with others.
Not in words.
Not in action.
Not in presence.
But it all.
With everyone.
I want to know others so well that I can live in their lives as part of their memory.
I want to be someone relied on and trusted completely.

This makes me a parasite.
I know.

No one wants this but me.
Even hugs freak most people out.
And that's just my starting line.
I have never been able to connect very far with anyone...
They have all gotten extremely good and saying "no" and pushing me away.

Every time you say, "no".
Every time I hear, "that's only okay if you were..."
Every time I see deeper connections with others...
My heart gets bruised a little bit.
Not a lot, just a little.
It hurts worse, knowing that you don't mean to cause this.
That you live in ignorance of your sword.
I know you say and do so to be admirable, faithful, kind.

But I feel like a fish out of water;
Pretending that I need air when that is the substance that is killing me
All because everyone else wants air
And the water is so cold alone.

I live in fear that I'll break from this intense internal struggle.
I live in fear that someone will one day see inside my prison.

I say I don't fear a lot...
Truth is, I fear my desires.
I fear the truth even as I speak it.


But you know none of this.
You see a girl, laughing a fake laughter
And wonder what is concealed behind it.
You hear the bad stories of my past
And question how they made me who I am.
But in reality, it is the happy times that made me so weak.
You notice my clinginess
And believe it is you that causes it.
But it's not.

I love too hard too fast too many
Because I fear that I am not.
Believing that I never could be.

Truth is, I'd die for you.
Truth is, I'd go through torture for you.
Truth is, I'd do whatever you asked of me.
Needed of me.
If you'd only accept me.
Me.
Not the girl you see, with the fake smile.

Under her, is me.