Extraordinarily Ordinary

Not pretty

Not very wonderful

Just an imperfect vessel full of even more imperfect things

Spoiled, rotten, festering.

Self-pity, self-obsession, self-hate.

The world is cold to a creature so self-sabotaging. To a being so selfish.

When I was a child,

My friends and I would bicker.

Maybe I was having a bad day.

In my righteous fury, with eyes flashing and hair wild, I would scream insistence that I be left alone.

I didn’t want to be alone; but with company, I am even more terrible.

Alone, I sink into my thoughts and wallow in my grief and pain.

But with an audience, my frustration peaks, and I destroy any and all positive affirmations or attempts at comfort that come my way.

I deny the support offered.

I tear apart the confidence these individuals had for helping.

Or caring.

So in wake of my unpleasant behavior

Can I blame them for leaving?

I blame myself.

I nurse my hurt, that the small bits of light and sparkle within me was not enough to keep them there through my abuse.

That they did not marvel at the speck of beauty within an ocean of filth.

I have found my own beauty in solitude.

And through my endless lament, I gratify myself.

I caress the shape of my sadness, of my pain.

I make love to my injured form and spin my emotions into lovely tragic stories that I will never let go of.

So in the end even if they all leave, I will never forget.

I recite my stories

Time and time again.

At least I will always have company; if your past haunts you, are you ever alone?