I cant tell if you love me
and I don't think that you really need me
maybe its because your the first guy
who hasn't pressured me for his own wants

And I don't know If I love you.
It hurts me if I do
and it took me this long to contemplate
my own curled and entangled thoughts.

I know every morning I pray that
you will think of me
but I just can't see
me with you

I think I am afraid of comitment
and devoid of attachment
but how I plea with my heart to say
you and only you.

I want to be in love in the spring
I want you to see my face in the flowers
I want to hear your voice in a warm breeze
I want you to need me.

Some times I can't tell
if you even think I'm pretty.
Every guy who has
asked me to...

I hope that you relize that I
don't mean to hurt you,
at times I think that it would be
better for you to forget me

I want to love you
but I can't tell if I want you
or the attention that you give me.
I feel horrible for this all.
Like I'm using you because you enthrall
with my deepest desire to be
yearned  for.

everything’s complicated
everything’s a struggle
have you noticed?
it’s a psychological horror
is this feeling the ‘adult disillusionment’ I keep hearing about?

I mean, things work, if you sit on them like an egg—
if your mother things along and helicopter a result.
I mean, what do people do who don't have
my resources and sunny disposition?

I get America’s increasing paranoia but I think that it's *** backwards. Even if someone's were out to ‘get’ you, no one actually cares about doing their job anymore. There's just so little competence around, that the dysfunction feels intentional. And because you need something and you’re helpless, you can't help but feel targeted.

But I think I figured it out, so let me elucidate—they aren't giving YOU bad service, it isn't personal—everyone is getting bad service, two pieces of chicken in the box when you ordered three, five day delivery when you’re clearly paying for two, failure’s become routine—endemic.

My go-to phrase has become, “What’ll it cost?” (the answer, usually: twice as much) “Make it so,” I say, swiping something with my Apple Watch, and suddenly, everything works!
.
.
A song for this:
decide to be happy by MisterWives

Don't let the little things get to your head,
Because if you do, your love will lay dead.

He holds my gaze with trembling hands,
A man torn by tides, shifting sands.
He says he wants me—but I know the ache,
The ghost of her still in his wake.

Her name lingers like smoke in the air,
And now his ex—her shadow is there.
Whispered confessions, a flicker of doubt,
A heart that wanders, a love stretched out.

Yet I do not judge; how could I dare?
I see the storm he’s learned to wear.
A mind that battles, a heart that’s bruised,
A tangle of love and paths confused.

I see my soul reflected in his eyes,
A twin flame’s fire, where truth and shadow lie.
I know his hunger, the ache to feel whole,
The battles within, the wars of the soul.
I understand the need, the longing for love,
The self-sabotage, the push, the shove.
For his self-doubt mirrors my own scars—
Two hearts aligned, yet torn apart by stars.

I’m hopeful for us, yet I’ll tread with care;
His patterns linger, my heart’s aware.
Yet I won’t worry, I won’t let the anxious thoughts win.
I’ll trust the journey, let the healing begin.
For love is a path both fragile and strong,
And what’s truly meant for us won’t steer us wrong.

Yet I can’t help it; my chest now tightens as I dream of us:
Will his promises hold, or crumble like dust?
Will I be the anchor, or just another shore?
Will he seek solace where he’s been before?

Still, I’ll stay and never judge, for I know his pain—
The weight of loss, the ache of shame.
I understand the wounds, the scars unspoken,
Our fragile hearts, so easily broken.

I’ll let time flow, let it all unfold,
For fate has a way of taking hold.
What’s meant to be will find its way,
Through light or shadow, come what may.

For if he can choose me, leave the past behind,
I know we’ll find peace in love redefined.
But I’ll still tread lightly, for love is a thread,
And trust is a bridge I’ll build with my dread.

i strip my skin, to show you my flesh. and i am met with tears and apologies muffled by your sobbing. i would cry with you, comfort you, tell you how good of a person you are. but now, my scars revealed again, i point at you shamelessly and i tell you it’s your fault. where sympathy and pity was, i only hold resentment. maybe in a few years i will have clarity, a new perspective, and i will feel guilty for how i was, but not now. you complain about your burdens and i take them on. the weight of it all.
everyday i feel it, my body, dropping a little lower. my feet once stable, now cramping under the pressure. and so i cut myself open and i tell you of my bruised body, but still. you can only cry and look at me, without ever doing anything.