What being in a relationship with me
and the impossibilities it withholds calls for is what has left me in a place of ignoring, letting in,
and no decisions.
See what being in a relationship with me
is like the late night sex when all of a sudden I’ve turned to terror, shaking, and telling you “you aren’t you.”
In nights like those; I’m having flashbacks triggered by sex.
It’s the annoying babe “I want a love letter” and the crying tears of all the stress I have on my shoulders.
Being in a relationship with me
is watching me become so intrinsically involved in a piece of art
– writing, painting, or capturing a photo –
with nothing but jealous left in you
because I’m not giving that much of myself to you.
Sometimes it’s the burned dinners
or the food that tastes like shit
because I decided to wing it.
I beg for you to take a bath with me.
I leave the TV on at night because I grew up that way and I fear most nights sleeping without it.
There are days you’ll see how cranky I am just being woken up.
And there is not a day without my pets.
I don’t live by a good schedule as I become unhappy with continuous repetition.
I get bored easy.
I’m rather restless if I don’t adventure sometime within the week.
I don’t have a mom anymore in and it’s shaped me, I guarantee you’ll hear about it.
I’m bad at pretending I’m happy, so you’ll know it by my silence or loud voice.
I wrote poetic bullshit to make the shitty things less shitty.
And this is the surface of what is buried underneath whatever shallow reasons you find on top to consider putting your time into me.
And people keep asking me what decision I have made on my relationship.
I have no decision.
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