as you are, and not want you

to be any different,

and it was never fair.

it was never fair.

sometimes

the hardest part about

letting go isn’t

the act of loosening your grip,

but wondering what you’ll do

with your now-empty hands.

i don’t think anything hurt more

than realizing the parts of me

that pull people in,

that make them want me,

are often the same parts

they hate the most

by the time it’s over.

you’re so ambitious

becomes

you’re so selfish,

you’re not afraid to stand up

for what you believe in

becomes

it’s annoying how political

you are,

you’re so strong and resilient

becomes

you’re a cold-hearted bitch.

and it never fails

to end that way.

i just want it to fail,

if only once.

how many times have i lost myself in love? how many times have i let a lover grip me by the throat, replace my tongue with thorns? i have drowned in love, flooded my lungs with its promises. and each time, i find myself a shell by its end. i feel as though i hardly know who i am if i’m not in love with somebody. it is the thing i crave most from life. i am addicted to it, and i don’t care how painful the comedown is. it’ll all be something worth writing about, won’t it? and isn’t that a fucked-up way to view love? but it is how i’ve come to see it. i want to be free of that. i want to know a life without the constant strain of romantic love, without the chokehold it has on me. give me six months free of it. give me six months to turn that love inward and unleash it upon myself. let the next person to come along know me not as the starved soul i have become. let me know what it feels like to love a person for who they are, and not for what they can give me.

you have to stop

mistaking toxicity

and unnecessary drama

for passion.

love isn’t always

going to be easy,

but that doesn’t mean

it’ll be so hard

you forget yourself

completely.

they aren’t your soul mate.

they aren’t the one.

this isn’t going to make

a good story, just a sad one.

there is no happy ending

with them.

the only happy ending you’ll get

is when you walk away.

you know deep down

this isn’t how

you deserve to be treated,

and you also know that

this isn’t what good love is.

stop lying to yourself.

go. just go.

you won’t regret it.

i promise.

somebody comments

under a post of mine:

i miss when you wrote sad poems.

can you do that again?

and i think:

why would you miss me

hating myself?

—i’m a real person behind these words

it’s a saturday night, and you’re staring at yourself in the mirror again.

it’s been a while since you’ve done this—picking yourself apart for things you cannot control. you’re frustrated with yourself for tumbling back down to this point when you’d been doing so well. but it can’t all be a straight uphill climb.