i am full of anxiety and daydreams.
i am built from bad poetry and diet pills.
i am a puddle of liquid fire. i am
my own worst enemy.
i am weighed down by words i’ll never say
and calories i shouldn’t have eaten.
i am either too clingy or too detached,
too loud or too quiet,
too serious or too blithe.
i am a paradox with skin and bones
and i’m trying to be okay with that.
i miss my home planet
whose arms would I run and fall into
if I were drunk
in a room with everyone
I have ever loved.
this becomes almost deeper when you think of non-romantic loves too (via intensional)