a s h e s

self-reflection

I want to decorate my body with art.

but art is so subjective and time

redefines my own meaning of it.

constantly, the only thing that is constant

in my life is my fear of commitment.

maybe it's not fear—but a gentle loathing.

or an inability to understand and replicate

permanence.

I cannot love like I want to love,

or see and understand people like I want to.

at one point, I was so in love with humanity

and the tragic beauty of ugliness and destruction

and death and chaos and depression.

I found things beautiful that no one else would.

but I became desensitized to death, to depression,

to fragility and humanity and beauty itself.

perhaps apathy is to blame—or my own flighty nature.

I can't care about every atrocity like I used to. I can't cry

for every victim of every crime and my heart doesn't break

for those who are so consumed with 'righteous' and 'unrighteous'

hate. I know to love everyone, but I can't love everyone the same.

the people closest to me are the ones I pour myself into,

the ones I pray for and stay up late at night to think about.

these people are lovely, and ugly, in their own ways.

I can't stand them and I don't know what I'd do without them.

nearly every day, I dream of leaving. and nearly every day,

I vow to stay as long as my tired bones and weary soul allow.

it is hard to love them. when they can't see the things I do,

because their perspective isn't level with mine and their heart

hasn't felt the same peace. when they don't care about the few things

I care about. when I get tired of breaking for them and carrying them

and wanted to be wanted and love like I want and love them.

I don't love easily. I'm afraid to give pieces of myself away, nowadays.

I have learned that the wide path always leads to some sort of pain,

so I've carved a narrow one to my heart. I don't love easily

but when I do love, I love with passion and loyalty and a fierceness

that I don't give to anything else. I love truly, but I love rarely.

I don't think I fall out of love. I think that I force myself to forget people,

and to pull away and push away, because I don't know how else to stop

the hurt of having them stay in my mind and soul. sometimes it hurts

to be near people, but sometimes it hurts to have them be so distant

and I can't do anything about it. helplessness has always been the most awful

thing I can ever feel. make me grieve and make me angry—