Sharing necks

If you opened up my neck you would find unspoken sorrow, bottled for years on end.

The pain would  spill out, dripping, sticky, and wet on your hardened heart, softening it up, gulping down your barrier and chewing, carefully, thoughtfully on your unsuspecting empathy.

You are a kind person underneath that shell covering your soul

and this makes you weak to the monster in my throat.

If you opened up my neck you would find rejected tears and piercing breaths. 

The tears would soak you to the core and seep into your bones.

You would feel no chill, but the fluid resting on your bones would be unsettling.

You would feel pain.

My weapons would stab you.  My breath.  My forgotten breath.

They would whisper in your ear and tighten your lungs.

Constricting your flow of angry blood and penetrate your thoughts.

They would tell you to feel.

Feel for this girl.

Feel for yourself.

just feel.

But you would reject it at once; fore this thing that speaks is evil.



.....




Isn't it?


.......

If you opened up my throat you would hold onto your walls surrounding your heart as tightly as you could.

Because the monster would slowly be finding you. The true you.

It knows you have feelings and it has seen your heart.

You would barricade the remaining vulnerable things.

But it would be too late.

The Monster would shred the last bit of your shield.

Then you would look down and see all the things you've hidden from the world.

Without the protection, without the walls, without any coverings at all, alone and frail.

And finally you would look down and see who you were, who you are, and who should've been all along.




If you opened up my neck you just might find yourself again.

Retreating

I feel it's time to return to my journal. A place where my thoughts can be secret, and where my tears can hit the page to be kept forever (instead of making my computer sizzle.) For now my heart is to heavy to share with the world. And my words are to sharp to reason with friends. Back to the sloppy handwritten letters to a future self that may never come to be.
Back to the forgotten pages replaced by a screen. Because I'm tired of trying so instead I think I'll go back. Back

to being me.

Slowly, but Surely becoming a Cat Lady

Can you tell that I'm feeling quite

cynical,


pessimistic,


disenchanted,


jaundiced,


and


sardonic today?




Because if you can't i think you need some serious help.


Remember when the world was full of hopeless romantics? Remember the times when men were truly chivalrous and woman wore clothing that actually covered their body?

 Because i don't. What happened?  Was this generation truly raised in a sleazy, sordid, and immoral world?  (sometimes i feel redundancy is needed.)

I don't know if i can take love seriously anymore.

I'm not saying that's a bad thing, i guess.  It's just disappointing.

Most people don't take love seriously.. 

I just never thought i'd be like most people.....

Oh well.  I guess my broken family has corrupted my mind into thinking love doesn't exist.
Not that i blame them or anything....(: 




Who knows though? Maybe i'll find a handsome cat that's just as loving as a human husband... maybe even more loving(: