A year behind

For the first time in a long time, I’ve been dancing with strings.
Humming along until my lips are numb,
fingers burning,
soul weeping and also laughing.

As I get older,
with years and years always letting my heart be devoted,
I’ve become terrified.
Like I’m running out of time.
One more marathon of months and I might be out of the race for good.
Sometimes it doesn’t seem fair.

27 came fast.
There was one person I thought I would be with forever.
It’s okay to grow too much for someone.
When that happens, you can’t wait around.
You can’t let your roots suffocate while they’re trying to reach the sun.

I like to heal.
I like to care.
I love love, and the idea of being in love.
I fear endings.
I also fear beginnings.
I always hold on tight and try to protect.
I have this obsession with broken things.
Imperfect things.
Things that are bare boned and needing light.

My soul lives to give.
It’s a curse.

I’ve been craving company.
For the first time in a long time, dying to see someone else’s heart.
Listening to every breath between every word because sometimes they say more.
Focusing on every sharp letter, every swallow, every crack.
It has been a long time since I’ve wanted to hear what someone has to say.

While I’m digging my nails into my skin,
I’m also wandering off in my head.
Letting myself have moments to dream of months from now.
Moments to hope.
Biting my lip to stay a little grounded.
It’s easy to get hurt.
I’m not as good as people say.
I’ve been thrown away a lot.

In the time I’ve spent alone,
I’ve grown as an artist,
as a daughter,
as a teammate.
Stronger, lighter, quicker, smarter.
I’ve become more successful, more motivated, more on time.
I drink less, I hardly swear, I sing loud, and hope to share that some day.

I’m drunk now though.
Lips dry.
Fingers near bleeding and I’m out of paper and ink.
I need someone to know me.
To hear me out.
To see me for all of the messy, loud, and sensitive things I am.
To know where I’ve been and how I fight that every day.
To really understand that, and know what it means for me.
How, to this day, it keeps me from sleep.
How I still have those dreams.
How it feels like being stuck under a mountain of defeat.
That kissing my forehead feels like home.
Hands in my hair makes me feel like I’m flying.
How telling me my eyes are beautiful makes me feel alive.
But what really counts is loving me for my passion…

Because I have a lot…..

It has almost been a year.
In that time, I’ve grown colder, but also much smarter.
And still wanting to give as much as ever.
Because that’s who I am.
I give until I’ve got nothing left for myself.
I just need someone who doesn’t want to take that from me.
Someone who understands my time,
my insecurity,
my lacking self confidence.
Someone who will keep their hands open.
Someone who reaches for mine.