Detonation Deterrent

just trying not to explode

[fayekoba]

It felt complete. It felt embarrassing. It felt like something happened and at the same time nothing at all. It's still impossible for you to figure out without speculation.

How did they know. Inwardly. How did they know. If they were to see this fancily constructed word vomit you would be absolutely MORTIFIED. Move to another country. Start a new life of hopeless romanticism and self-sabotage.

By gods those words were so sweet, and you wish that you could take every single one and save it forever. Pack them away as a keepsake like your childhood crushes notes. Problems arise when you focus on them too long and start to envision these words decaying and rotting, melting away into a toxic slime that burns your eyes and lungs. You're unable to breathe because those innocent grumblings and excited whispers turned into lies and deception.

The smile creeps back because even though you feel you can see the future with that poison-laden sweet in your hand you want to ignore it all just to feel wanted. The words, the touch, the look mixed with worry and admiration and pain. Was that just dramatics when you could literally see the turmoil in their whole body when they tried to go? Could the fallacy really extend this far without it showing it's ugly head?

How. How did it even happen? You are you. You are still all of those things as before. No one changes, you could not possibly think that anyone would want to for someone like you.

You need to know. You just have to.

[fayekoba]

Silence

Aching.

Trembling.

Lonely.

You want to give your all but you know that they need nothing from you at this moment. They have others who they can leech from. The thousands of words you wish you could say weigh your heart down like an anchor at the shore; you're unable to sail forward.

You're stuck.

Breathe. Work. Sleep. Repeat. Breathe. Work. Sleep. Repeat.

In that sequence, who has room for anything other than that? Use the fire you project to conquer this feeling of inadequacy that plagues you. But... in the end that fire, by some god-awful reason, is fed by the cravings you try to run from.

You know your actions caused it. You know you were overzealous. You know you were detached. You know you were loud, tender, crazy, quiet, insufferable, you. You know you were being you.

Why do you have to be you..

[fayekoba]

Inwardly.

No, there's literally no possible way. This is only for monetary gain or to aid an addiction. You saw that look. You saw that 'oh god no' when you came close. You want to desperately believe that touch to be something real, when it's just an opportunity for a release when they're high. It's just the same. Those blues look lavender through the cloud of dust and rose.

You hate the ache. The need for a companion. The desperate nature of when you're alone. You remember the question. You remember that it was an uncertain way to continue with the track, but is it all a fallacy? You are not the mystifying, gorgeous, slender canvases that he paints on. You are cautious. You are wary. You are.. you. A dumpling; sometimes cute, sometimes ugly, generally always palatable.

Wished you were there, begged you to go with, was willing to be there just to be with you.. but was that for personal gain? The fear of asking overwhelms anything else you could imagine. You cannot fathom a truthful response in either direction because you are uncertain of the words that drip from your tongue as well. You can hope and pray all you’d like, but you fear nothing will satisfy. The unknown is what you wish to tame the most, not the man.

[fayekoba]

7-7-2021

HERE WE GO AGAIN.

Hopefully by writing this all down it will help me get my head a little clearer and stop being such a.. narcissist, maybe? Crazy? Definitely attention seeking. Possibly genuine or just lonely and feeling unloved. WHO KNOWS, MY BRAIN DOESNT.

I just sincerely want to be happy. I want someone to dote, who wants to be disgustingly cute sometimes (seriously, sometimes), who listens. Someone who values my thoughts and sees me as a partner and an equal, and not just a woman that they're with (or a bank account they can leech off of). I want someone who wants to touch me just to feel, not because they need the once a month (if I'm lucky) exemption from touching themselves. Oh, lord, don't get me started on THAT. That's an issue all in itself: selfish bedrooms. I will admit that I am not the most exciting, but if I have to endure a drunken tryst and still be unsatisfied in the end, why would I bother trying?

I want the thunder and lightning. Maybe that's my issue? Maybe since there's no spark that means we're in the mundane realm of passive love and that means there's silence? There's no way that love always has to turn into this. There's no way that love turns into a flaccid morning kiss and an empty vow of love every day at noon, and nothing more. I don't know why this intrigues me so much. Is it the thought of someone who lives just barely over the line of wrong really that enticing? It's probably the possibility of someone SHOWING you they adore you rather than having to assume that they do. I crave a gentle fingertip crazing my shoulder as they pass by, a knee touching mine under the table, an intertwining pinky, a kiss on the forehead as I lean onto their shoulder; a single touch that would mean instant connection, instant closeness. I can feel my chest tighten at the thought of just a simple gesture. How can love, which can be as simple as a hand of the small of your back, turn into something so.. soul draining?

But this is different, right. This one would be different. This isn't such a broken human that they couldn't be fixed. Haha, that's the ticket. Fixed. Why does a woman feel the need to repair? Isn't that the social responsibility of men? Aren't I the one that is supposed to be passing the tools to them, with doe eyes and a sing-song tone, quietly asking them to assist? Why have I taken it upon myself to seek out the down-trodden and give them my soul hoping that it aligns with theirs. Now, that was a bit dramatic. This instance is not of a soul releasing sort, but more of a peek; A burlesque of the heart, if you will. My point is still sharp, however, as I hate myself for my constant need to play the greased mechanic of the cosmos, tirelessly trying to find my 10-millimeter socket but ignoring the fact that if I just look at my wrench, it may have been there the whole time. When I do look, when my happiness and satisfaction return, I am never able to focus long enough to see if that socket exists or not. Am I just never happy, or is my situation so unpredictable and unstable that it can never idle on 'Bliss' for too long?

I'm rambling, like always. No matter how much knowledge and information I obtain, I cannot strip myself of a fantasy. Who am I to assume, and I am VERY HEAVILY assuming, that this would even end the way I want? I know who I am. I know what I am. I've seen the streams that they dip into, and the frequency that they dip. Compared to mine, they are cool and crystal clear. The kind of stream that is pictured in magazines and adverts showing their beauty and serenity. Mine? Oh, mine is muddled. Sometimes it's too large to be called a stream, but in ways it's appropriate. Sometimes the murky waters clear and you can find a hint of the bottom, but it's always in a glimpse from the corner of your eye. It's never considered beautiful. It's.. ordinary. Mundane. Uninspiring. There are no poems or epic stories told about the myths of this stream, not like the others. So, who I am to believe that someone would want to take a chance to see if this stream's waters are calm and cool? Who would submerge themselves into a stream that you could not see out of when you opened your eyes underneath the surface? I hope, but I can never expect anyone to willingly want imperfection when they are consistently offered more.

Again, I am being dramatic. I act as though this is a surefire, Romeo and Juliet situation. How pathetic is that. I have disillusioned myself into seeing more than what's there. I assume that the truth is always told, when in reality, we all have seen what prizes the lies get them. I know that in the back of my mind my insecurities wouldn't allow me to be happy because they can get whatever they wanted. I know that I am told that there is more there than meets the eye, but is that really true? I have seen the gold that has been placed at their feet and I want to believe I am the diamond on top? Surely, I know that I can outwardly see myself in the most positive light, but inside I cannot deny that I am not the diamond; I am the dirt floor that covers the cave which these treasures are kept. While I am thought of with positivity and appreciation in a fleeting moment when seen, the mounds of sparkling trinkets will always catch the most eyes. Only when the caves are empty, the jewels having been chosen by others, will a gaze be laid upon the dusty floor. They will curl up and spend their time with the notion of waiting for the jewels to return.

I am foolish. I am loud. I am mean, disagreeable and finicky. I am one to give everything to someone who gives nothing. I am incapable of letting go of the fear of missing out on life, because I am always looking for more. I want to look for that something in the person that I am with, but my words get lost in the tumultuous ocean that is life. My pleas of warmth echo and eventually die out, never being answered. I just want these pleas to be heard. I want them to be answered. I want them. I want to be loved. I want to be loved in a way that I dont have to question, I just know. I want to be touched. I want to be held. I want more. I want to be happy.

But.. am I that incapable of being happy with what I have, or is what I have incapable of making me happy?

[fayekoba]

Just a Way to Decompress

I am doubtful anyone will read this. I am a stressed person in a stressful job making stressful life choices.

I just need to vent to prevent myself from making more stressful choices and situations.