I want to decorate my body with art.

but art is so subjective and time

redefines my own meaning of it.

constantly, the only thing that is constant

in my life is my fear of commitment.

maybe it's not fear—but a gentle loathing.

or an inability to understand and replicate

permanence.

I cannot love like I want to love,

or see and understand people like I want to.

at one point, I was so in love with humanity

and the tragic beauty of ugliness and destruction

and death and chaos and depression.

I found things beautiful that no one else would.

but I became desensitized to death, to depression,

to fragility and humanity and beauty itself.

perhaps apathy is to blame—or my own flighty nature.

I can't care about every atrocity like I used to. I can't cry

for every victim of every crime and my heart doesn't break

for those who are so consumed with 'righteous' and 'unrighteous'

hate. I know to love everyone, but I can't love everyone the same.

the people closest to me are the ones I pour myself into,

the ones I pray for and stay up late at night to think about.

these people are lovely, and ugly, in their own ways.

I can't stand them and I don't know what I'd do without them.

nearly every day, I dream of leaving. and nearly every day,

I vow to stay as long as my tired bones and weary soul allow.

it is hard to love them. when they can't see the things I do,

because their perspective isn't level with mine and their heart

hasn't felt the same peace. when they don't care about the few things

I care about. when I get tired of breaking for them and carrying them

and wanted to be wanted and love like I want and love them.

I don't love easily. I'm afraid to give pieces of myself away, nowadays.

I have learned that the wide path always leads to some sort of pain,

so I've carved a narrow one to my heart. I don't love easily

but when I do love, I love with passion and loyalty and a fierceness

that I don't give to anything else. I love truly, but I love rarely.

I don't think I fall out of love. I think that I force myself to forget people,

and to pull away and push away, because I don't know how else to stop

the hurt of having them stay in my mind and soul. sometimes it hurts

to be near people, but sometimes it hurts to have them be so distant

and I can't do anything about it. helplessness has always been the most awful

thing I can ever feel. make me grieve and make me angry—

but do not leave me helpless.

in my mind, I always think that I could have done something better and something more

than what I did or couldn't do—and the thoughts will keep me awake and keep me empty.

I have a need to be filled. I have been satisfied, and I thirst no more—but you won't drink

the water with me, and I think its because you fear the change. or maybe you fear to be loved

even more than I try to love you. or maybe you fear that one day you'll be given up alone,

and the last resort will no longer be available because you went there first.

I pity you. I pity all you are now and all you could be but choose not to be and never will be.

to "be"...we need to let it go and let it be. let it be. and be. but that is not all we, as humans,

need to do. simple existence does nothing but make you replaceable and make you someone

to be forgotten. nobody really wants to be forgotten. we all want to be remembered—

we all want to be cherished—we all want someone to care.

I want to care so badly for so much, but I find that I am so small. some people are universes,

they can stretch their love and passion out to cover the world—but I am far from a universe.

I am far from a planet, from a sky, from an ocean, from an island. I am simply a tree.

I stretch my branches out, but the shade only extends so far. at night, there is darkness

everywhere and I am nothing special. but in the heat of the day,

you will find that under my branches the world is slightly cooler and less harsh.

I wish the winds didn't shake me, didn't ravage me. I wish I were strong and tall

and that my branches wouldn't snap at every storm and gust and that my leaves wouldn't wither

before the seasons changed. I want to love the earth and cover the earth in gentleness

and kindness and peace. I want to be humble, to walk differently than the rest.

I want to give rest to the weary, and carry their burdens and pains—but I am only one small tree.

I am only one person, so insignificant in the grand scheme of things. I am no God,

I can't perform miracles or show you wonders and leave you in awe of me.

I am so mortal and fragile and sensitive. I am so fearful—paranoid—and brash.

but in my favor, I have a voice that carries farther than my shade. I don't always use it

for comfort but I stand firm for what I believe and your sly, coy, and enchanting remarks

will not sway my invincible truth.

the only one capable of convincing me of something else is God or myself.

I convince myself so often of things. I convince myself that it is okay for you to treat me

like this and that it is okay for me to treat you like that. I convince myself to give

you another chance and to give myself to another person.

why can't I convince myself to have infinite joy for something? why can't I

be able to answer if I still like something with, "Always."

I just want to be able to feel passion in my soul for longer than a year.

I want to have the same taste in music or movies or people or art or clothes or something!

there has been only one constant in my life, and that is my constant belief. but like anyone,

I have doubted. now that I find the truth absolute and undeniable, I wonder if I'll ever stray.

you wanted to find the constant me, because I think that I've found the constant you.

but darling, I don't even know who the constant me is. who is she, I wonder?

tell me if you find her.

see, the reason she doesn't exist is because I evolve. I am never the same person twice.

or maybe it's not evolution, perhaps I glorify myself and my flaws too much.

maybe I just adapt. I adapt to fit in with the crowd, because I am afraid of standing out.

people fear what they don't know. no one but God can ever know me as much as it takes to

know me. people will fear me—people do fear me. fear leads to hate.

nut somehow, I know that even if I am hated (like I already am) I will still love.

I may love the wrong way or the right way or the wrongs things or the right things.

but I will love.

it doesn't matter what or who I love— know that I will always love. something. someone.

some place. who knows?

I will give love, and like always, I will try to never expect anything in return.

when you expect to receive the same love back—you will be sorely and completely

disappointed.