The Blood & The Bones

I am not weak or for the weak. I have always known this.

And, I know even better that I need no one. Until I really do and even then I won’t have the guts to confess it. Because letting them in never ends well.

I don’t like to admit that some days I am wounded prey. That some days I need extra special care. Because I want to be strong all the time even though I know I can’t. No one can.

I don’t like to admit that I get so deep in my own head and all I want is to be dug out, set straight and reminded that I am needed here. Wanted. That I am valued. That it’s ok to want what feels good. That I can stop fleeing feeling because of fear. That I bring something to the world that makes it brighter. That there is someone who wants all I have to give, who will go up the mountain with me knowing what awaits us on the other side and who could, who would love me through the many up and the rarely down and the easy sideways days.

But, usually, the only person who has ever been the one to do that is me. And even I do a terrible job at it most of the time.

I’d be lying if I said I didn’t wish if were different. That I could be fragile sometimes and still be ok. That I could lean into someone without fear of totally losing my balance. And if I did, that’s ok too. That someone would catch me when I fall instead of the net I always had to put up myself. That I could come undone with them and they would still stay.

I want to be soft again. I want to stop running. But the world and circumstances and old wounds don’t make that easy. So, I stay like this. Hardened. Heart closed off. Wary. Worn out. But pressing on and pretending. Always pretending. And I know, I fucking know, it’s no way to live.

the blood

& the bones