"Be unassuming. Otherwise, you'll cry."

Tools of self gratification.

Me — i.e, jpenseur



No one is a tool for your self-gratification. Nor are you anyone else's tool. We live to serve ourselves first. We extend service only when others do the same. 

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Chinook pushing you away from where I want you to be.

Me — i.e, jpenseur
Whenever I see you, I'm called to do more and to be more in order to somehow pique your interest. To make you think that I'm a basket worth all your eggs. When we interact, it just feels so smooth and effortless, and I don't feel drained after conversations. When you speak, I can't help but admire you. I make an effort to listen even when my attention span is less than desirable; the net benefit for me just feels worth it. When you act all goofy, I want to just cover you in my arms. I daydream about how warm you would make me feel. I so deeply want to run my fingers along your hair and just take time to show you my affection. How wonderful would it be to be together? These, of course, are all just unrealistic desires. I know I can't be with you. There's just too great of a chinook pushing you away from where I want you to be. I do, however, appreciate that I can dream. 
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Meaningless weed extremely root bound in your flower bed of perfect people.

Me — i.e, jpenseur
  Lately, I've been feeling extremely aggravated by how you've been acting. On the few occasions where we can interact, you make an effort to be avoidant. Why is that? What's the point of you being around if we aren't even trying to bond or get along? Am I just overthinking this? Am I simply jealous of what others have with you? You know, I've been very insecure about how I should go about approaching you; it feels like any wrong move will split us farther apart. I know you don't hate me, but I hate this stagnation in our relationship. The root of all this frustration is I can't seem to connect with you, and any effort to try will only make things worse. On top of all that, I think you're purposeful; and the knowledge of my fragility does not bother you. I started feeling like you don't want me at all in any context, like I'm a burden, worthless, just some meaningless weed extremely root bound in your flower bed of perfect people. I feel like an ...
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My life in some attempt of summation.

Me — i.e, jpenseur
My life in some attempt of summation, has been the lack of space. A safe space to be deep, intellectual, vulnerable. I think subcontiously, that's why I started writing. It's easier to feel when I'm not calculating. When I'm raw, and entirely honest. I can hate without feeling like I shouldn't. I can be passionate without being too much. It's like a personal study or library where I'm free to scream on top of my lungs. I can be everything. Guarded and powerful. Hopeful and cynical. Logical and emotional. My life in some attempt of summation. 
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Me — i.e, jpenseur
I have people around me who bring nothing to the table; I think more and more that their company is simply a waste of time. I shouldn't say that, but that's how I think. When I'm around them, I just feel absolutely nothing. The conversation is not stimulating. There's no sort of progression; it's dull throughout. Their interests are so small in scope that it's hardly palatable. They are so concentrated on what they know they've become exclusive. So dull; I think I knew that for quite a while, but these bursts of loneliness cast such a big shadow that it made me stop realizing it. 
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Vincent van Gogh

Me — i.e, jpenseur
Skeleton with a cigarette. We talk with no regret. My heart beats fast in a fishbowl. Yours evident from bone to bone. You bring joy from unexpected places. From texts to peculiar faces. I took a smoke to make some time. To wonder whether your question was benign. I go through the same eb and flows. The question of, am I in love? Or is it just the smoke?
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The Narcissist

Me — i.e, jpenseur
Hindsight, what horrible person that was. I was so overwhelmed by the disapproval that I let this person chip away at my sense of self-worth. I don't care if you hate me or is disapproving of me. I don't see much value in your person either. I was a fool for thinking your opinions of me carried more weight than my opinions of you. You were despicable. All that pain you caused me, I wish for you to feel it all. All those looks of despise and those loud booming moments of silence, feel it all. That persistent feeling of questioning your sanity, feel all of that as well. I think maybe the reason why it's hard for me hate people is I was making room for people who really deserve it. I think you deserve it. A slow agonizing burn. I often imagine how you probably felt powerful emotionally abusing me; stonewalling me. I fell into it because of hope. A bait you meticulously placed in the trap made of your narcissism. People say that, time will heal, time will make you forget. Maybe...
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Blurbs of Indication

Me — i.e, jpenseur
I look at you unapologetically. I say outlandish blurbs of indication.  I give gifts right from the heart.  I laugh at your soliloquies. When you went in for a hug, I almost gave in discomfort.  I wish I had raised the white flag.  I don't know much, but I do know one thing. I want things to work out.   
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The possible idea that I'm never to have ambition. 

Me — i.e, jpenseur
Something I've been scared of confronting is the possible idea that I'm never to have ambition. As of now, I've convinced myself and others I have big plans, but I know in the back of my head how dishonest I'm being. I guess it's easier to be vague than to say you don't have dreams, right? In my world, motivation thus far, has only been to save face. I feel like I have never strived for anything substantial or adding value. It upsets me that I'm at this crossroads of not knowing, and not caring. I just want a bit more direction, to find at least one thing that sets me up for good. 
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Why does this bother you?

Me — i.e, jpenseur
When you can't look at poverty or even tolerate it, is that not privilege? Nothing can change my mind. I don't see 'being triggered' as a valid reason not to accept reality. Poverty exists even when you're living in your middle-class home in Canada. 
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