Shit Scared

I’m restless. I need space and free air. I feel like with every breath I’m paying for it.

And to stop speaking – I need silence. The kind that feels at weird at first, but really its just inexperienced peace of mind. I need space to hear myself not think – I need to know that its possible. I need to rely on myself – I need to dig a hole and plant my roots so I can grow. And I need sunlight. The kind that only shines on me and I when it does I wonder if I’m the only one in the world who experiences daylight.

Take my shoes off and run on the pavement. I’ve never minded walking on the dirt others leave behind them. The ocean washes it all off each summer. The winter has been a cold one and my bones feel brittle – my skin dry and my insides parched.

I really need to stop talking. Stop putting myself on the plank – I always fall off. And everyone’s getting tired of rescuing me. Throwing me lifelines, and life jackets and buoys. The red ones, the blue ones, the white ones. I’ve lost them all.

I need to stop sharing it all. Keep some it inside for me – just keep it to myself. They don’t want it and maybe if I hold it I’ll breathe it out with salty, cool breath instead of hot, quivering words. My hurt is mine – at least I have that. It’s a start. And hurt I do, but that’s too real for right now – I only want to say all things that scare me to say truthfully.

And its ironic. Truly. My firestation burnt down at the hands of my fireman. And maybe laughter doesn’t help. Maybe it masks it all but not in a real way, not even in a genuine way.

Ok Some real plain words. I'm really scared. Shit scared, really.