Maybe, Sometimes

Maybe,

sometimes

I like how I think that I can chase the universe and the universe, me.

Energize me.

Grow me.

Form me.

Sober me.

Feed me.

Undo me.

Discard me.

Catch me.

I chase my trust issues with Jäger and run myself into warm highs because, truly, I’ve never been one to embrace the cold but, sometimes, I like that. Maybe I like how I’ll always be in search of myself.

Sometimes,

I like how the dark has always made me kind of nervous.

I remember spending many nights alone when I was younger because my sister had friends and I was weird and I remember laying on the top bunk, waiting. And listening. And searching. And I would yell for my dad even in the hours of the night when the silence was louder than the rest of the world and he would come into my room. And he’d listen. Sometimes I’d talk for only a few, fleeting moments-sometimes I’d talk for more- and then he’d walk me to the bathroom never because I had to go but because he knew that it made the dark seem less violent; less crippling.

God,

I swear, I could remember it like it was yesterday. There was something about the way he stumbled with his tired feet and heavy eyes that made me feel like we were both just trying to survive. He never hated me for having irrational fears. He never failed me.

God,

Typing this makes me question why I ever stopped loving him.

Maybe.

(sometimes)

Maybe, sometimes I talk when I’m not supposed to and maybe, sometimes the meals I find myself eating end up finding their way down shower drains or shady gas station toilets which, in turn, end up reducing me down to even shadier gas station floors but,

maybe,

sometimes

I kind of like that I’ll always be a little fucked up. My palms are stitched together by life lines and callouses and tiny little scars that no one will ever understand and my trash can is filled with Diet Mountain Dew bottle caps and other bullshit but, if that means that someone else’s palms won’t have to be stitched together by the same damn things and their trash cans won’t feel the need to drown in bottle caps and old bullshit then,

maybe,

sometimes

I like that too.

Maybe I like that I rush things.

Maybe I like that I see the world differently.

Did you know that,

sometimes,

the same stars can make multiple constellations?

I would let the darkness of all those nights swallow me whole, I would fill my trash can with more bottle caps than it knew how to hold and reduce myself down to a thousand gas station floors; I would write these posts day and night and afternoons and dawns and other times of the day the earth dissolves in if I knew it could save a life.

Because

maybe,

sometimes,

I like the idea that all my fears could change the world.

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