Sugar in My Lips

In the far off distance, I imagine what I think I deserve. When I am up close, however, I receive what I expect half the time and what I don’t need in the other half. So, all I can do, all I feel I can do, is pretend to understand where my life is headed.

Another day, another gift of time wasted, I say when I arrive home. But nobody is there to hear it or make conversation out of it, so the person who speaks it is also me, but the me from the future in which I am both embarrassed at having spoken alone, but also curious as to what I am going to say to continue the charade.

Something in this life is worth it if you give it enough time and effort, even yourself, I say but I am so ashamed of the person I was a few seconds ago, that I laughed out loud at my ingenuity. I am never going to learn no matter how much I say it or believe it, but I also want to do so in a way that is both dazzling and spectacular.

I lick my lips and kiss who I am, metaphorically, I feel the love that I deserve and no one has given me, I taste the taste of my own smell and the scent of my own fragrance through my own skin, I feel comfortable in my own body and love it, and dream of it, and possess it in a way that no lover can, and in the range of my emotions, of being devastated, lost, confused, jovial, and late, I realize how much I am missing by questioning and not living, by surviving instead of living, by craving instead of living.

But I don’t care.

Why do you think some people force themselves to be unhappy, what drives them to be so desperate?, I ask my future self, and I ponder this question endlessly in the brain, and in the soul, and through a painful stomach ache that I brought on myself, and in the middle of an emotional downwards spiral towards hell,

I think you are afraid of feeling anything else that what you’ve been feeling, to hide yourself is much easier than to admit the reality of your situation. You are special in the wrong ways, and the world has accommodated enough to your demands, but it is time that you give, make yourself vulnerable, cry in front of me, and kiss me, taste the sweetness of what I am, love me, I say, but I do not think my past self understands it and even the me of the future, which will be of the past, will understand it.

I want to love myself, I say to no one in particular, but I do not know how to being or what to do to make it possible, do you have any advice for that?

No, my future me says, and with that, another kiss, another day wasted, another lip caressed pointlessly.