manufacturing hurricanes, for the hell of it

Day Zero Project

So much I want to say, but I’m not really sure anymore if my words will compromise everything else.
Sometimes I wonder if I should just stay silent, most of the time it’s probably a better bet.
Yet my lips move of their own volition.

Raging against all that I was, but I don’t even know if I like the new me better.
Sometimes I don’t want the lights to be on, I want to turn them all off,
the darkness is comforting because I spent so long making friends with it.
Is that why I honor the nighttime? Perhaps.

I want life to be more than this.

Everyone is smug as fuck about my life.
As if they actually know what rolls through my head.
No, I am not a puzzle, but I am not easy to figure out.
because, as always, when I try to pin down what I think or feel about something, someone, it changes.
I can’t even trust myself, so how can anyone else truly believe that they know me?
"Pride goeth before a fall" – I like that phrase because it puts the smug people in their place, subtly.

I cried again today because I am sick of struggling.
No one else is trying at all, which makes my own struggle even more difficult.
Perhaps that’s arrogance, but I don’t presently care.
This angry, cocky attitude is keeping me from falling.
I’ve fallen enough.

I want to whip up a frenzy, a motherfucking hurricane, or a tornado, so that others will understand what my inner world is like.
Maybe they will get a taste of the confusion, of the helplessness, of the fucking cauldron of feelings that threaten to overwhelm everything.
And the fear, the taste of true fear, because there is nothing to fall back on.
You don’t fucking understand, and it is true futility to try to force it.
So maybe I’ll make a hurricane…..or maybe I’ll shut the fuck up.
One of the two.

I contemplate things too much,
dissecting everything into tiny little pieces.
Is it even worth it?
Maybe not, but I don’t think I can stop it.
It’s like fidgeting; it keeps my hands busy.

Openness is important to me,
yet if I was truly open, it would incinerate everything
and we’d be clogged with the ashes.
I have a couple walls, and really, it’s better that they stay erect,
because it keeps me from slipping into my past self.
My past self would tear you open and rip everything out of you.
Berate you. Make you feel less than.
And humans deserve to enjoy their free will,
and I have to quash my need for control.

Adrenaline. That and nicotine and caffeine are all I need.
And the ability to choose my words wisely.

Stoic is looking pretty good right now.
Maybe I fucking deserve that little vacation,
because everyone else is taking vacations all the time.

I’m not even angry, but I am.
I’m not even melancholy, but I am.
I’m not even at my breaking point, but I am.

And this time, I’ll catch myself.
Because I’m tired of paying back debts.

And here’s a shout-out to all the people hoping, believing, that I will fall.
Fall hard, possibly crack open my skull on the pavement.:
If you would turn your judgmental eyes inward, perhaps you wouldn’t have to get off on another person’s failure.

I may be broken, but at least I’m not that fucked up.

amanda.