i miss writing. it helps me to clear my head and to straighten out things in a way that talking can't do for me, not right now, not when i have no one who will understand. perhaps blogging is a cry for help stemming from a suppressed hope that someone will see the pain inside and help me, not judge me, not condescend to me, not pity me.
nights on the crowded dance floor, swaying to the beat, shading my eyes from coloured strobe flashes and scanning, eyes always scanning the club for a glimpse of him, desperately wanting to know what he's doing, who he's with, what they're talking about. wanting him by me, wanting all of his attention to myself, small gnawings of jealousy eating away at my heart all the time. defending him after what i saw, wanting to believe him rather than my own eyes.
oh i wanted him, more than was good for me.
and now, not a word, not a goodbye kiss, i thought we were friends. did i do something wrong again i'm always making a mess of things. i can't ask anyone for an opinion because i'm too proud and i don't have someone who loves me unconditionally and will share my hurt.
you know, i would be okay right now, despite everything else that's going on, if only he had cared about me.
hiding under my skin, nursing my wounds, sore in every part. it saps me of my self-confidence, never very strong. am i attractive am i interesting am i good, even. you have to come back to the question of why am i still alone, why haven't i found a man who appreciates who i am, who thinks the world of me, who wants to give me the best he can.
stripped down to nothing but soul, here i am, cowering, dreading the next blow.
No comments:
Post a Comment