Got a trout on the line, hawk, this one’s a keeper;
I cared about you For a moment I knew when I saw a photo of you at a party-- Your eyes looked sad, projection or not; i felt the same, Wondering what you must have been feeling in that moment; if it had happened that night or if your mind was lingering somewhere distant, idle on a memory of yourself or someone you loved
I will always be disappointed when someone is disappointing, and will always value my understanding of the preciousness of someone letting you know them It makes me feel sad that men don’t care enough about themselves to have comfort; even in pillows, blankets, and things of sentimental value—as if to say, if I can walk alone in this world without any of these things, I can never be known, as if no emotion can be coerced out of you if there is no evidence You struck an egregious familiarity nerve My body is so much smarter than me It will always be disorienting when you’re pulled beneath the comfort and stature of your being in everyday life; to be placed beneath yourself without your consent. To have been a traumatized person, thinking.. this feels familiar, this isn’t for me, I know, and yet I am here, stifled by it. Made idle to a past you, because you were pulled there by someone else’s perception of themselves and how they feel they need to manipulate your being down into how they want you to know they view you.. or by doing so they have been saved from being or treating those around them better. But they aren’t loving themselves Any More. This is, of course, the threat of new people, instances, situations: to have been so hurt in the past, to have healed (or always being in the process of it) and standing in it—be it flailing, misspeaking, thinking of what to do after the fact. I can say I’ve done right by myself, despite how I feel I would have liked to act; how valiantly my friends would have acted had if it been them or their reactions to it for me. Unfortunately, or not, I might always feel these small variant experiences with people deeply. I won’t say more deeply than I should, because for all I knew—they could have been a deeply, delicious, mysterious gift and I may have fumbled it by playing cool—the one I’ve been asking for. Or in any case, someone new; a life long friend or group. You never know; so when people are disappointing and place me within their perceptions of themselves, I will be always disappointed, but not in myself for having been in the situation. That is what self trust is for. Nothing has to go on, and we cannot make people become more alive than they (are despite the trope of one girl making everything better for a man, even if the darkest of places in his life.) Real men close themselves off faster than a blink of an eye—the deception of will-power. Closing them off from themselves, too.
