Trapped In Wonderland

Everyone always says that I'm beautiful or intelligent. Or the many variations of those words. But because of my upbringing, I don't see those things. I see a very damaged, broken, depressed, hideous monster. And I don't say that to get compliments. I say that because that's my truth. I just want you to understand, so here's some of my checkered past.

Clawing at the air, Grasping only nothing. Screaming to the night, Wondering why you're gone. Now you're just an angel, Flying in the sky. Watching me from up above, As I mourn over you.

You and I are in the kitchen. It’s storming outside. We watch the snow come down so hard that it blankets everything in seconds. The reflection of the indoor light off the snow is beautiful, sparkly. We are making cinnamon rolls in our underwear, fuzzy socks, and oversized sweaters. We dance to music only we can hear and kiss. But somehow that isn't enough. We sway in the moonlight after we shut the lights off. Wait on the timer to go off. We were supposed to make frosting but instead we're making out. Your hands wrapped around me. Why can't it go back to that? How I would give anything to relive that moment or experience it all over again for the first time.

We spoke endlessly about everything and nothing. Now, I cannot even remember the sound of your voice. The outside air shivered in visible vapors of exhales with the end of february chill. A crescent moon waning and distant, eclipsing mars shadows of maroon left over. A glimpse of spirits emboldened, blur into orion’s belt, held up scintillating a message to betelguese, an apparition of a missing heart becoming an illusion  becoming a flyaway thought

I wish it could be just like always, when we laughed and talked and you smiled at what I said. I wish it can be just like always, cause that's what it should be. I wish you were with me.

Here we are, eyes glued to the ground. You sniffle sadly, trying to force a smile. Maybe we can be friends instead. Sure, maybe I reply halfheartedly, but can anything replace love once it’s dead? They say only the hurt would hurt, in turn, the ones they love but I was not so hurt that I could not see that which I inflicted - I did it anyway. It is only in the hurt that we feel at home. We are wounded children, unloved and unloving. I pray I can someday unlove you.

I just wish you never meant this much to me. Just so I don’t have to think of what you do, or what you feel, or who you’re with, or what you think about. I just wish you never meant so much just so I don’t keep wasting my time caring.

This hit hard and deep for me.  Credits to  sjlwrites  on Tumblr

All courtesy of Tumblr user  Jubileelove