That’s not what this is, what’s going on right now.
This isn’t a game.
There can be no compromising.
Either you want me in your life or you don’t.
Either you respect me and my space or you don’t.
Either I’m worth it to you or I’m not.
Make up your mind.
I’ve already made up mine.
If we can reach an agreement, you can have me.
All I need from you is respect and love and attention.
Then I’m yours.
Isn’t that a bargain?
All of me, for basic decency.
When I was younger, the most cherished word in my vocabulary was compromise.
I thought it meant I get what I want in return for a small favor, but still.
It was my favorite word.
Now though, I don’t like it as much.
I compromise too often, on things I should never compromise about.
I compromise in situations where I’m left uncomfortable, unhappy, or both.
It’s no longer my favorite word because it’s made me stop valuing my own boundaries.
I’ll have to find a new favorite word.
If you gave me this present on my birthday it would be fitting,
the darkest day of the year after all.
This gift seems to like the dark, it thrives in it.
When I opened the box it immediately burrowed inside my chest,
looking for a quiet dark spot to curl up and rest.
It was the best gift I could’ve gotten, stillness.
And in the still night of my soul, divinity was born.
This desire in me is ungodly.
There is courage in tossing aside a mantle of purity and accepting the ugliness in me.
There is a dark satisfaction in defying everyone who wants me to doubt myself
and loving myself to pieces instead.
This desire I have, to be my own beloved first and foremost,
needs no god to thank.
This desire I grew in my own dreams, in my own heart.
It takes great strength and courage,
to grow like a rose.
Full of thorns and distrust,
but soft and sweet once the right care allows you to blossom.
I met a rube by the road one day,
and he said, “You’ll never know how much my rivers miss me.
Neither will I.”
I think that’s the worst feeling in the world,
loving something and wanting them to crave you.
But being left ignorant of their true desires.
I am new to this place.
The dazzling lights and sights beyond my imagining.
I am a rube now, nothing more than a foreigner who’s eyes have been opened.
This is my soul, this wondrous land.
There is a crack in me, I can feel my health draining out,
it is a crack so fine no one notices.
But I can feel the leak.
I can feel it.
There is one mask we can only peek beneath,
one costume that sticks to your skin and refuses to let go fully.
Our current lives.
Each life we live is a costume for a vastness of self we can only begin to understand.
It is the world’s masquerade ball.