"Punch a hole in my cage and I reach out blind"

Good gods, this cycle of crumbling and putting myself back together is getting a little old. I can only imagine how tiring it is for all of you all.

Days come and I want to apologize for everything. For being messy, for having being messy be such a large part of my personality. For being attracted to the wrong people, or not attracted to them, for needing things that I do get, for asking for the things I'm not getting, for not knowing how I'm supposed to behave, for drawing the wrong conclusions, for asking the wrong questions or even just not asking the right ones. I try to beat back all my hope, for fear it will get in the way of other people's lives. I assume a zero tolerance approach to all my mistakes.

Hope springs e-fucking-ternal and all. (or as Harpsichord once said, hope is the thing with feather and sharp teeth).

I once wrote a half-decent poem on the heraldry of pelicans. I think I'd like to try to do so again.

Sometimes, I find it hysterical that my depth perception barely works and that my glasses mean that I don't have very much peripheral vision at all. (However, it would be much, much better for me if I don't manifest all my metaphors.) Reason tells me it must have always been a little bit like this, Dickinson warns me, and yet my sense of time falls apart, beads on a string, I will always be climbing a mountain, I will always be waiting for someone to start a conversation with me, I will always be trying to find that puzzle piece that makes me settle in to things, able to take what is given and able to seek what I'm not getting.

I understand them as developmental aids, but mobiles have always seemed cruel, like telling the children to start early on understanding things will always be out of reach and often arbitrarily so.

"Punch a hole in my cage and I reach out blind"

Good gods, this cycle of crumbling and putting myself back together is getting a little old. I can only imagine how tiring it is for all of you all.

Days come and I want to apologize for everything. For being messy, for having being messy be such a large part of my personality. For being attracted to the wrong people, or not attracted to them, for needing things that I do get, for asking for the things I'm not getting, for not knowing how I'm supposed to behave, for drawing the wrong conclusions, for asking the wrong questions or even just not asking the right ones. I try to beat back all my hope, for fear it will get in the way of other people's lives. I assume a zero tolerance approach to all my mistakes.

Hope springs e-fucking-ternal and all. (or as Harpsichord once said, hope is the thing with feather and sharp teeth).

I once wrote a half-decent poem on the heraldry of pelicans. I think I'd like to try to do so again.

Sometimes, I find it hysterical that my depth perception barely works and that my glasses mean that I don't have very much peripheral vision at all. (However, it would be much, much better for me if I don't manifest all my metaphors.) Reason tells me it must have always been a little bit like this, Dickinson warns me, and yet my sense of time falls apart, beads on a string, I will always be climbing a mountain, I will always be waiting for someone to start a conversation with me, I will always be trying to find that puzzle piece that makes me settle in to things, able to take what is given and able to seek what I'm not getting.

I understand them as developmental aids, but mobiles have always seemed cruel, like telling the children to start early on understanding things will always be out of reach and often arbitrarily so.