I love rainbows and unicorns.

The best option 
to live well is
to love well.

When I was a child, I thought,
Casually, that solitude
Never needed to be sought.
Something everybody had,
Like nakedness, it lay at hand,
Not specially right or specially wrong,
A plentiful and obvious thing
Not at all hard to understand.

Then, after twenty, it became
At once more difficult to get
And more desired - though all the same
More undesirable; for what
You are alone has, to achieve
The rank of fact, to be expressed
In terms of others, or it's just
A compensating make-believe.

Much better stay in company!
To love you must have someone else,
Giving requires a legatee,
Good neighbours need whole parishfuls
Of folk to do it on - in short,
Our virtues are all social; if,
Deprived of solitude, you chafe,
It's clear you're not the virtuous sort.

Viciously, then, I lock my door.
The gas-fire breathes. The wind outside
Ushers in evening rain. Once more
Uncontradicting solitude
Supports me on its giant palm;
And like a sea-anemone
Or simple snail, there cautiously
Unfolds, emerges, what I am.

i have been searching for a home, for a memory, for a friend, for a certain love in people since day one. i have found myself like putty in the palms of people who only wanted to mold me and shape me to be what they wanted me to be. i have mistaken lust for true love and some form of care. i have mistaken the wind for a hug more times than i can count. the thing that scares the living **** out of me is that i don't know when i will stop, when i will change, when i will forget, or
if i even can. what scares me even more is that i am afraid i will never be able to forget. you see, i have a hole inside of my heart, inside of my soul, a hole that ***** away at my brain minute by minute. i have a hole that i fear will never ever be filled for as long as i walk this earth, and let me tell you, the hole is a lot like a wound. sometimes it will go numb and i will forget for a small amount of time, but **** if i don't always end up remembering. the hole burns. it aches. and some days it's enough to make me want to die, right then and there. but i keep going with the hope that one day i will find that missing piece. i will find that solace. far too many people have tried and still want to fill that hole; they want the crown, they want to know they've fixed the broken record, the broken mirror. what they don't understand is that they are mud, not filament. they infect my wound. they make it larger. they make it hurt more. i swear to god i've tried everything to fill this hole, and when i say everything, i mean EVERYTHING. I have this darkness seeping out of it, seeping out of my being, and the light can't quite keep away this darkness for good. i can never quite **** my demons to hell, though i am their own god and should have full control over them. they live in the shadows of this hole. they play with those who dare to try to fill it, including me. my only hope left is to find that missing piece. to find that lost cause and that entrapped little girl. i think she's under the sun somewhere, but the problem is i'm not sure if these demons can take that too well. i hope that someday we find the acceptance, i hope that someday we can find the filament, because i fear that if we don't find it soon, the demons will make this hole larger and larger to where it isn't just a hole anymore, to where it becomes my entire being, my existence. it's soon to be that i am nothing but the open wound, where i am left with nothing but becoming like those i fear, or worse: those i love. becoming dead, metaphorically and soon after, literally.