I know I haven't touched this blog in a million years, and it's not for lack of trying. Anyway, here's a sort of messy post about self-reflection that I've been working on for a while. Don't worry, I'll be back for good this time.
What I know is this: I am allowed to
feel things in a way that might be suffocating for others. I am not
easy to love, and I know that. I am fragile with bones like
matchsticks. I break easily. My lungs are full of glass; my teeth
fall out in my dreams. I have shaky hands when I'm nervous. I am
wide-eyed and soft. I take forever to eat meals, and I don't care.
I sit in the bathtub until the water gets cold, I eat oatmeal
frequently, and I don't always say nice things.
I am a human body with human emotions
that don't always make sense. I get jealous about things I shouldn't
be jealous of. I miss people that I have no right missing. I cling
onto things that I should really just let go. I'm not very
good at moving on, but I'm very good at remembering. I'm excellent
at falling for boys that don't matter, and boys that really do
matter. I end up writing weird poems about each and every one of
them, scribbling out words just to remember the feeling. I get
carried away, I get ahead of myself often, but it's only because I
can't love anything halfway.
I walk around like I own the place, but
if you really looked at me, you'd see that I'm scared of a lot of
things. For example: I am scared of horses, deep water, and the
future. I'm good at creating catastrophes out of stupid things. I'm
dramatic about my own life; when I'm alone I pretend I'm the only
person in the world. I'm really good at writing on walls, scratching
tally marks into my life. I've been alive for 8,543 days and
counting. I wear just enough eyeliner to make you look twice, and
dark nail polish to make you wonder where I've been. I laugh at my
own lame jokes. I'm sassy and loud sometimes, but only if you know
me. I tiptoe through movie theaters, I use my finger to draw on
windows in the winter, I ride the train when snow covers the roads.
I don't try to make people love me the
way I used to. Take me or leave me, it's up to you. I used to think
I could make a person love me. I know now that I can't. I am
learning to just be me, I can't expect love and devotion without
first giving it to myself. I have flowers growing out of my heart,
and I don't want them to die again. I've only kissed two boys in my
life, and I'm not ashamed of that. I refuse to settle and I'm picky.
That's okay.
I have soft hands that are good at
tracing circles on your back; I have lips that are learning how to
say your name properly. My ribcage pokes at you like knives, it's
going to take a lot for me to let you in. I don't know how to let
someone love me, but I'm an expert in how to be let down. My heart
longs to give away all the years of love I've stored up, and I know
that one day I'll explode with that love.
I am a good listener who may not give
the greatest advice in the world, but damn I can listen to a problem
or two. I may be clumsy to understand the way you touch me, or why
you can't stop staring, but I think it's worth the awkward moments.
I get cold easily, but that just means I own a lot of blankets. I
can make a killer grilled cheese sandwich, even if I can't always be
bothered to make any sort of meal at all.
Here's the thing: I will not apologize
for being emotional, or for telling you exactly what I'm feeling. I will not apologize for being independent, or for not knowing what to say all the time. I will not apologize for texting first, for calling unexpectedly, for saying I miss you. I will not apologize
for feeling things more deeply than you.
I'm a little bit awkward, and a little
bit intense. And I'm finally okay with that.
"Things break. This is the first law of any beauty. Gravity. The way islands are made. I am the list of things you will break."
-Sampson Starkweather
xoxo,
rachel.
