I think from an outside perspective, I'm pitiful. It's not self imposed, It's context. I don't believe that to be my story. I'm not someone people should feel bad for. I want to be someone known for joy, and known for love. Someone that's selfless. 

So much unnecessary distraction. All because I thought there would be joy there. 

I feel like I am a burden to you. I feel like you see me as someone who just can't seem to leave you alone; someone you can't shake off.  I fear I overwhelm you. Giving you pieces of my art, you have no space for.  I contantly feel like I get in your way. Getting in the way of what you really want, whatever that may be. Wants I'll never understand or know.  I'm contantly trying to adjust, trying to change, that way maybe you would seek my company. I'm in this constant hope that you would call out to me, but you never do. I have trying my best to be your ideal but I'm beginning to think it's unachievable. I keep learning, thinking, adjusting, and critiquing but it has all been futile. I can't be anyone other than my faulty self and my lack of seriousness.  I don't want you to feel like you can't shake me off. Especially, when disappearing is my greatest trick. I don't want to be in your space if you don't want me to. You don't find me ...

Loss. It's hard because it trickles down. Like hard rain. Like tears. Like the uneasiness of insomnia. It's hard because you don't just lose them, you also lose a piece of who they were in your life. It's hard because why didn't you appreciate them more when they were present? It's hard because we all say 'there's peace there', but it's our way of masking our uncertainty. Masking our worry. It's hard because we force acceptance over unimaginable pain. Love like loss is the consequence.

One of my earliest memories are of beautiful black and white marbled butterflies. They would flutter about is a certain magical way. That was my first sense of a deeper appreciation and celebration of life. It saddens me to think that people lose sight of their own marbled butterflies; to no longer want to love life. There's a deep sense of pity, and a harrowing guilt. Where are we while they are in agony? While they're are in pain. It only takes one person to bring them into a field flowers, and yet, we fail. To the few who might see this, please check up on your loved ones. Remind them how beauitiful life can be.

I do my very best to analyze the social dynamics in a group. I act accordingly in order to make everyone feel good and feel seen. Sometimes though, I think to myself, I should just try to have fun. 

I think about all the ways things can go wrong. I never give myself enough room to breathe. Constantly in this preventative action. I pressure myself into being present for the people I care about. Making sure everything is good and everyone is well. I do it even when I know I should rest. I want to meet someone where I don't feel the need to perform. That I can go for days at a time where I am quiet, but know when I come back. Love and understanding will be there.