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July 31, 2017 | by  | in Poetry |
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All the times.

Sometimes I think I have too much love.

I simply don’t know where to put it and often I am giving it to people who don’t want it or do not understand how precious it is. I am perpetually heart broken and it’s exhausting

Sometimes I think I trust too easily.

I have the lowest self-esteem, but for some reason I always believe people when they say they love me. I make the mistake of believing that everyone else is as obsessed with authenticity and truth as I am.

Sometimes I think I am too honest.

I speak my mind and wear my flaws on my sleeve like a disclaimer. Every second sentence I say is like a warning — Careful! I am very clingy/ fragile/ sensitive/ blunt/ awkward/ late/ scared/ sexually frustrated/ lonely.

Sometimes I think I am too kind.

I give and give and give as if I need to in order to live. I don’t do it for a reward, I genuinely expect nothing in return, but perhaps that is the problem. I am often left running on empty and feeling undervalued. I would give my last breath away because I can’t help myself and that will be my demise.

Sometimes I think I will be lonely forever.

I am an introvert. I need time to recharge regularly and I don’t like to feel like a burden on others. I am messy and clumsy and bloody and my morning breath is probably foul. I like the company of salt lamps, cats, and indoor plants; but I could really use a rough fuck right about now.

Sometimes I think I am a bad person.

I don’t volunteer for any charities or support services and I no longer hand out leftover food on my way home from work. I preach the importance of mental health services but I do nothing to contribute to their survival. I want to help but I don’t want to give up the time I use for self-care and sleep-ins.

Sometimes I think I am a bad woman.

I know I am more than my looks and my genitals, and I know you are too; but my self-worth directly correlates to how many “likes” I get and how much fake money is stuffed into my g-string at the end of a long night. For the most part, I like who I am, but I would rather be you or her.

Sometimes I think I am a bad friend.

After a long day of a long week of a long month of a long life, I don’t have the energy to care for the people I love. I am sorry that you feel bad right now, but so do I, and I can’t save you from drowning when I’m already treading water.

Sometimes I just want to be better.

Smarter, prettier, taller, thinner, nicer, funnier, faster, sexier, whiter teeth, flawless skin, more worldly, more patient, more logical, more artistic, more organised, always get eight hours of sleep, wake up to see the sunrise, more athletic, climb a fucking mountain or some shit, be a billionaire and own your own house.

Sometimes I think that I am both too much and not enough.

I am always thinking about some kind of sometimes.

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