Everyone Has Someone, And Though Their Someone Might Change, It Will Rarely Be To Somebody Who Has Nobody.

everyone has someone, and though their someone might change, it will rarely be to somebody who has nobody. i have never felt like anyone's best friend, i've never been sure i'm the one someone thinks of first when they need someone, i've always been the one who understands why things happen. i feel like i will never be anyone's priority, after themselves. i know youth and loneliness have strings interwinting together, hand in hand, and it's all about where you are. people say just wait until you're older, but the older you get the stronger the bonds you don't have are, with each passing year, it's another i can't make up for in a month, i can't make anybody stay and it's frightening because there is no guarantee i will not end up alone. though it may not be physically, i fear nobody will ever be around enough to get to know all of me, watch me change and be able to say that they saw me seven years ago and i still can't pronounce that word right, or say they knew me in highschool all nervous and now have seen me get married.

i am a firsthand witness to my father's anger. i am his only child so engaged in following his footsteps. the apple doesn't fall far from the tree, they say, but i am not an apple and he is not a tree. though his face is oaky and strong and mine is red and blistering, so different yet so alike, what differentiates us from one another will always walk a thin line of existence and delusion. i am still the embodiment of his worst qualities. i still harbor the nature that scared me as a child. though he was understanding and kind, though his eyes were gentle and blue, they could still grow cold. the weathered hands that once cradled me as a child were still capable of bleeding. the comfort in his voice could teeter over the thick bridge of careful consolation and could harden like ice, cold and unloved. i am a firsthand witness to my father's anger. i am the only one so imbued in becoming just like him.

i wish to be a lover. i wish for my hands to be careful and soft. i wish to cradle the fists that have beaten me and wash the feet of those who have kicked me to the ground. i wish to love in any way that is not pathetic or desperate. i wish to be able to express myself without rage. i wish to be without rage. i wish to be without. i wish.

i am the precursor to my mother's misery. my very being is her burden. they tell me that this is what she had signed up for. that this was her duty as a mother. i tell them she should not have given herself up simply to cater to her children. i tell them she should not have given up. there was a time where she was free. where she could dance and sing and laugh without worry. where she could pursue her career and go home to an empty house with a big dog named after a flower. where she could cry and smile and spin around in circles with her arms in the air. where she could run down the streets of the city in the rain with nothing but the clothes on her back and the warmth of her best friend's hand holding hers. i am the precursor to my mother's misery. my existence has only caused her plague.

i wonder about the woman she would have been had I not been born. i wonder how much love she could have felt before she met my father. i wonder if she would have often thought about someone who has not yet existed. i wonder if she would have missed me. i wonder if she misses me. i wonder if she misses. i wonder.

i am a testament to my sister's loneliness. i am the final piece of evidence that everyone will leave her. we had grown close when we were younger. two peas in a pod, is what they had called us. opposite sides of the same coin. best friends on two ends of the same earth. different, yet so, so alike. so similar it makes me want to rot. we grew distant with age and time, as all siblings do, but have never reached that breaking point where we cave in and come back to one another. i wonder if i should have stayed. if i should have reached out one bleary night where the moon was drunk and the stars were slow dancing in the sky. if i could have done anything to make her feel less hollow. if i could remember that i am not her keeper, that her suffering did not have to bleed into mine. i am the testament to my sister's loneliness. i am a monster for not feeling guilty for it.

i crave guilt. i crave to let it consume me and turn me into nothing. i crave to feel something that makes me just a bit more human. i crave to hate leaving her, to regret it for just one moment. i crave to hate her. i crave to hate. i crave

i can't seem to do anything right so leave me. no please. save me the leaving I hate that part most. i'm messy work. i don't love properly, i either swallow it whole. or can't stomach it. they both hurt. everything hurts.

this isn't my first time loving... but i haven't learnt anything it seems. i’m still messy work. you can't save me... no matter how much i wish you could.

how to never stop feeling sad

1). every time you see something bad let it linger and fester up inside of you, feel it's coldness and watch as the people around you laugh and smile, you can't feel it.

2). find comfort in it, take it as a second home, everytime you talk to someone speak negatively, to the point it is impossible to have a conversation with you without feeling drained, but you already believe that this is what you are doing, you don't need this step do you?

3). slip away even as you stand there, be somewhere else, a walking ghost. become everything you've ever hated, because now this is all you've ever wanted, lose interest in your passions, become dull and tired for a sleep that you can only reach alone.

4). listen to sad music on repeat, let the lyrics embody your life, and when someone asks if you are doing okay, push them away, get angry, how dare they stop you? how dare they care now? repeat yourself it is too late. not even you can save yourself now.

5). write, over and over the reasons you are unloveable, write all the reasons you think your friends hate, surely now, they must do, if you have any left that is. write until your head hurts, until you're too tired to pick up a pen.

6). don't get up from your bed, until you can't on your own. avoid all basic hygiene, become a carassess in your own room, watch the mould grow and the trash build up, it is ugly, let it become a mirror almost of yourself, believe this is who you are.

7). repeat the memories you used to try to distract yourself from, there's no use in the distractions if you want this feeling, talk to it, hear it's whisper and watch as it becomes a scream, a plea, you want to be seen but you cannot take the help no matter how bad you know you need it. you can't admit it, in fear of being seen as weak, in fear of burdening others, losing who you are all over again.

8). watch the days pass and turn into months since you've left your house, lose your job and wonder how you'll ever make it in "the real world"

9). start writing again, this time the letters, put careful detail into every, there will be many questions, but so little answers. let the tears stain the paper, a quiet voice inside you will beg like a child, for another chance at this, and you will slam the door, you've made up your mind. let the gratitude for your loved ones fill your heart, feel the warmth of the love you rejected, you dont think beautiful things like that could be given to people like you, they must've want something in return. notice how some stayed, take it as they must dislike themselves too, it is the only answer. fall asleep halfway through writing them and watch the sunlight creep onto your face for the first time in months.

10). wish that it could be enough, know you could never be, it was stupid to try. listen to the tiny urge within you to open the window, feel the breeze and the children laughing, the world will be the same without you, and watch anyway, see the beauty of it all as you become an observer, see the light in their eyes and recognize the loss of your own, miss everyone, and wonder where they have gone, believe that it is your fault, something you have no control over, ignore the messages unopened. forget that if you reached out, you know you' wouldn't be alone.

11). call someone, ask how they're doing, it's the least you can do, you're leaving now. open up, talk about it, like a dam breaking down, flood the room, feel the warmth of their arms around your cold body. know that it is okay to be okay, you do not have to be sick to be alive, know that being sick isn't the end, you are not dead yet, and you will be okay again, it is never liner, and you are never completely on your own, even in a empty room, you feel suffocated, so scream, plea to be seen, take the risk that they might see right through you, that you might be already too gone to save, isn't that what you wanted to hear?

12). the world may not change it's axis without you, but someone else's would shatter beyond repair,
if it's all you have then stay for other people, until you can do it for yourself, do whatever it takes to do it all another day and always one more sunrise, sunset, you can do it another week, for now watch the beauty of the world you live in, for such a short time, everything will pass, no matter how slow or fast time goes, it passes the same anyway.

13). try to observe it, not as a person but a viewer, isn't it lovely, how the stars are seen as animals and people though they're no art we understand? isn't it beautiful we have art for every human experience nearly, and for the things we dont, they are being created.

what a gorgeous thing to understand, to find something that speaks to you, without a voice even, a brief conversation with some star like listener. you are not alone, and you have never been, you will stop feeling this way someday, wheather you want it now or not, the only that is forever is death, you are alive. and as you read this your heart beats, your lungs still provide you air, your hands can still touch things, your feet can still carry you. you might want to leave, but your body will do anything to keep you here, if nobody loves you, it still does, if you're alone, you still have yourself to understand.

a lake with deep twisted shadows dancing in the shallows that resemble my silhouette, just a little bit more in shambles.

crystal clear ice covers the surface and you can't break through.

you can't claim to know my deliberate depths when you've only observed from stones on the shore.

if you picked a god and prayed hard enough then maybe you could sink down to my mud.

and i've talked to the sun but only at confession time when she has the cover of the clouds.

to keep you on the stoney bay.

“and i would say i love you, but saying it out loud is hard, So i won't say it at all”

futile devices (doveman remix) by sufjan stevens