loved to pieces

Everyone tells me the world doesn't revolve around one person and that life isn't fair. I know life isn't fair. I've had my fair share and I know what its like to be the person with the smaller slice of pie. I also know what it's like to have the biggest slice of pie, and to look down at everyone else and think, oh, wow, gee, my slice is bigger and I know what it is like to not share. I hate myself for that and I regret it every time I wake up with a stomachache.

Sometimes I look around and it seems like the colors around me are getting dimmer. Like we're all a piece of a masterpiece and we're becoming artifacts, slowly. The colors that were once so bright are fading and nobody even notices, because we're fading too. And soon the paint will start to flake off, and then break in bigger chunks, taking faces and flowers and the sunshine away with it and we will just be left with a blank canvas again, perfectly white but so empty and void of life.

I never thought I was a pessimist. I never believed there was anything wrong with me.

I've turned my back on every friend I've ever had, and I don't even know if they consider themselves my friends. Or if they did. Maybe I'm too dull to see the reality of the fake smiles because I never get anything genuine. I joke a lot about how much I talk. I guess it's true.

I pretend like I think nobody cares about me. And then when people do, they really care, they really want to talk to me, and help, and be kind and love me but I just can't let them do it. It feels like I'm allowing them to make a stupid decision, to love something so lifeless, discarded and worthless that they are going to be expending their love on something that's already gone. It's wasteful, it's pointless, it won't do anything but speed the process up. I'm like a really old stuffed animal. You know, the beloved Beanie Baby. I was loved by the baby and squeezed and then I was loved more by the dog and chewed on and I was left out in the sandbox and refound again with tearful gratitude, and now my limbs are falling off and some people want to put me up on the shelf like a collectible so I won't break, and some people keep trying to hug me and love me and it's just making everything worse. I'm pretty sure I've already lost a few stitches today.

Never expect more than you need because when you do you'll just be broken.

back

Pedaling without much triumph over the hill,
I glance behind me, seeing nothing but gravel and dust.
Gravel and dust that once gave me purpose and hope but
that has lost its shimmer and its brilliance.
I look at the mirrors that tremble under the pressure and see
faces of those who I thought I knew.
One who was the tallest,
the counselor,
the meme-loving 4 o clocker,
the best.
Surroundings change my perception and
I'm not really sure what I am looking at anymore.

Back and I try not to hate the reality before me
try not to judge
try not to vomit words over those who don't need them
Help me before my hands reach helplessly
for a grip that is only an illusion of security
a practiced deceiver
the knower of lies and twisted truths.

Back and I slipped in like a whisper
without much hope of fame
I cut through the crowds,
leaving shards of emptiness in my wake.

Back and it is entirely cold
full of faked greeting and love
too far away from formed expectaions

Back and I wish
I could just decide
On who I was already.

SEEYASOON

sisterkallipaige.blogspot.com

no such thing

no such thing as watches that tick forever

no such thing as unicorns

never seen a jackal-ope

never has my face stayed clean

losers never won the race

and  the rocking chair never stayed dark green

smiles faded 

laughs died

and when she did,

the angels cried.

'cause living isn't for the perfect, 

or the broken-hearted souls

her soft sobs broke the silence

and created black, empty, holes

that ripped through light, that tore, relentless

aware of the damage that'd been done

Give me more, sweet sorrow,

End the torment, 

because tomorrow,

sunshine breathes a last wave of heat

and pores soak up the lasting sweat

of a person who was never more 

than a never-ending bet.