unfinished

if i could literally wear my courage it would probably be a shirt that says
“I don’t give a fuck” in bolded script letters to really hit the point home
that I couldn’t care less about anything, my person shining through too hard, too strong

in reality I tear up sometimes when I see a dead squirrel on the ground or when
kids gently tease another kid that I’ve never met and will never talk to
because theres too much death in this world and theres too much sadness in this world
and there are too many pillows with tears on them and people nodding without saying anything when someone asks them if they are okay

I dont know
I cant write love poems
the words dont come from softness or the way your mouth moves
when you sing your favorite song or how even your whole damn voice
sounds different when you talk about the things you really love and I can believe
that your voice sounds that way when you talk about me but the darkness in my head says dont assume it, hope for it.

I keep finding the line “im a sad fucking person” tucked into my hand
held tight in my heart like it matters like thats the kind of weakly built crutch
i can use when Im that person who nods without saying something when
someone else asks if im okay, especially when its the people that can see
right through me and my fragile building of my own facade
because ive never been great with the long term of “long term commitments” so i
keep myself easily changed but never 100% complete or even right
but i keep nodding because its okay im doing the best i can because im sad
about today and tomorrow and probably at least four years after that

so dont look at me like that im trying to be “chill” or whatever the fuck that
is supposed to mean
i know what kind of person i want to be
having courage that isn’t questioned
making decisions without going over every detail like it will ever matter again
but instead ill write half-finished pieces and pretend that they are done

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