You Don't Know This Yet. You Are My Sunshine.

Dreaming of being a better human.

I don’t think about it often. Usually just on two dates in the year. But sometimes out of nowhere it punches me in the chest.

It has been nine years since I’ve lost you. I won’t ever get to know who you may have been. I don’t talk about you, I’m not sure how to.

This grief will never end.

I despise myself. The way I live, or rather a state of surviving until the next sunrise. I despise the way I let others speak to me. The way I choose to live. I have no will to change it though. I will disassociate my days away.

Love. A tiny little word, with an infinite amount of meanings. Good morning: I love you. How are you: I love you. I hope you have a great day: I love you. I see you are hurting: I love you. I thought this was funny, I need to show you: I love you. This reminded me of you: I love you. Love is in everything I say to you, when I can’t write: I love you.

Starved for affection

‘There are thousands of children starving in Africa’. I was told this throughout my childhood, when I refused to eat dinner. How does my eating help those in need across the Atlantic? It doesn’t, it never did.

How about what I was starved for? It wasn’t food or love. I was told ‘I love you’ by my family every day. Affection, physically, that is a whole other story. My father worked all day weekdays and we rarely saw him. Even on weekends, he had other hobbies. I was raised in church, that god awful place, so we got to see him on Sundays. But he was an outdoorsy person and I hated the outdoors. My mother, on the other hand, well she was a deeply unhappy person. Struggled with depression and so gracefully handed it down to her daughters. We rarely saw her either, she slept her days away. Physical touch, that was rare. I grew up in a ‘loving home’, but the love wasn’t shown, only spoken.

So, i learned that physical touch was an option, not needed. Rarely wanted. It has really fucked up my adult life. Any relationship I’ve ever been in hasn’t been romantic in the slightest. Sex, well that’s what a man needs. It’s not affectionate, never will be. It is something to pacify those urges so they don’t look elsewhere. Me, a deeply sexual person now. It’s awful. It just feels wrong when I have urges for well, anything. I loathe being touched in any way, yet I crave it. I guess I feel the need to be touched. I just don’t trust anyone to touch me the right way.

If affection has never been shown to you, you learn to live without it.

I will always apologize for my existence.

To be alive is in this world, in this humanness, is quite exhausting.

I am convinced I am wrong to be here as this; this living being, this whole person who has thoughts that can be spoken aloud.

I was meant to be something living, but quiet.

Something that has a voice, but no words that can be spoken.

I suppose, like a breeze that just whispers past.

A breath of wind that is craved on a warm day, but dreary in the winter.

I am meant to be a part of this world but not like this.

I whisper my secrets out into the universe.

The stars twinkle with laughter.

They share my joy and watch while this new adventure begins.

I remember the day I bought two yellow roses.

I went to your grave and placed the roses atop your gravestone. I sat beside you and talked about a few memories we had shared. I cried tears of joy because I knew you weren’t in pain anymore. The tears turned to sadness though. I asked to you please take care of the child I never got to meet. I think I may have said something about heaven. That’s where everyone believed you had went. You said you saw angels a few days before you passed on. I would never speak ill about you, but I think that’s delusional. I truly hope you are somewhere better though, holding hands and teaching my baby to fish. I see you in every cardinal that flies by me.

I’m far too cynical to believe in heaven; I would like to see again someday though.

I mourn for all the women that were misunderstood in the past. The women who wanted to live their lives without the restraint of man telling them how they should live. Women who were burned alive for no reason other than they were born the wrong gender. Women who spoke their minds and were persecuted because their beliefs were different.

I will mourn for all the women who live after me. Women in the future will face the same things we have been experiencing for thousands of years. I have never considered myself a ‘feminist’. After years and years though, you’d think that something would change. If it hasn’t changed yet…why would anything ever be any different?

I am a lament, the trees whisper into the breeze on a windy day. Full of sorrow and grief over my useless existence.