GurglingBubble

Written out thoughts and emotions with the occasionally dream interpretations.

[writtenbabbles]

I catch myself hopping into everyone else’s world. I snuggle up into those worlds for far too long then I am pushed out into another one.

No matter how many times I’m pushed out it never got easier. Honestly I think it got harder. I catch myself cold when I should be warm. Wide eyed and ears pricked up when I should be lounging.

I am on the edge of just another world I walked into and waiting for someone to push me. Sometimes without realizing it, I am begging to be pushed out of this world.

I do not sit comfortably snugged into worlds, I am crept into them in shame. The affections I use to give to whose world I am in are no longer apart of my stride.

I am a scaredy cat without the pin point fur. My fur is matted and I amble with trepidation.

I don’t know the pathway that leads to making my own world.

I don’t want to believe that the pathway that leads to the feeling of five million stars shooting through and around your face like hot gas, is the path to my world.

When I have seen so many fumble much like I did, into a world that had the perfectly carved out hole just for them. Every world has pit, it’s where I lay, especially when I cannot find a hole just for me.

So many worlds that are so big just for one or two people and yet all I can muster is a cat like jaunt.

I can make things and leave them behind in other worlds. I’ve done it many times. I’ve tried to replicate the same method of world building as others, though it always end in an explosion of acidity.

So far, through all my attempts, I still am snuggled in yet another world, another pit, and by my lonesome.

I feel like a child and yet smell like a street cat. Scared, questioning, and waiting for another push.

[writtenbabbles]

I learned at a young age to freeze when trouble is near.

To not make a sound, to not move so fast.

I still freeze, and it seems dramatic nowadays, to just freeze mid speak.

They don’t see what I’m calculating, that I’m testing the room for trouble.

I freeze out of fear and stand on the edge of the door frame for a fast escape, just in case.

I always make myself upset when I freeze but I can’t help it. I don’t trust that you won’t hurt me.

Sometimes I freeze without realizing it, calculating, processing and reprocessing. To the point I forget why I’m there, even forgetting so much I don’t recall my own name.

I’m not trying to dramatize my life. I’m not playing around, I am using my outdated tools to help keep myself together.

….I hate that I look like I am dramatizing. I hate that it’s perceived that way.

Turning what I do into an act, when in reality, I developed an awful tool because I didn’t want to be screamed and yelled at as a child.

I’m a deer in headlights who forgot what they were doing in the first place.

You scream or charge or raise your fists at me and I freeze. I believe that if I don’t move I disappear, that maybe not moving will make you think and stop before you have a go at me.

Sometimes it worked, but once they recognize what you’re doing it just gets worse. I couldn’t stop doing it then though, it was already wired together in my brain.

So I just took it…. Sometimes I tried screaming and physically fighting back but…. It just never stopped.

Somewhere through time it stopped completely. It didn’t matter though, the wires are already connected. The tools, destructive, useless tools are already set and ready in the box for when I need them.

I no longer need outside sources to destroy myself, I now have a working one built inside me, constantly running.