Seeds and Hurdles

What sucks is that I think you're honestly trying.

What sucks is, maybe this really is the best you can do.

What sucks is that you're putting up hurdles between yourself and your professed goals.
I try to show you this

and, rather than take the barriers down
you throw up a few more
between you and me.

You think it's all my fault.

And I'll accept some blame.

But you?

Don't accept any.

And it's a shame.

Not just for me - though it does impact me too
what you fail to realize is that it's a shame for you.

You know enough to buy the seeds, and put the seeds outside
but you plant them along rocky road
and any blooms have died.

It's one step forward and a million back with you.

You live life thinking the Band Aid should be enough
but you refuse to clean the wound.

And anyone with the audacity to tell you it's turning septic?
Is doomed.

What sucks is that, maybe the Band Aid is all you're capable of.
Maybe the Band Aid is your only concept of love?

You think I can't see that you're trying
but that just isn't the case.
I see you're working feverishly
but sabatoging your own race.

It breaks my heart to see it
breaks my heart that you cannot
breaks my heart to know that inside
you're giving it all you've got.

Seeds and hurdles.

Seeds and hurdles.

And Band Aids on mistakes.

What sucks is, you probably learned this.
But you can unlearn it too.
and if I had one wish between us
that'd be my wish for you.

I wish that you'd put down the Band Aids
and finally clean out the wound.

I wish that you'd take down the hurdles.
They're tripping everyone in the room.

I wish that, before casting seeds
you'd address the soil - the needs
of the blooms.

Without water and light

all that effort and might

is doomed.

And no amount of fight - ing

will right the beds in your head

that wither in your hands.

It breaks my heart to see it.

It breaks my heart to be it.

It breaks my heart to know that inside
you're giving it all you've got
just to watch it rot
and die.

Seeds and hurdles.

Seeds and hurdles.

I'm sorry

I am not a very thoughtful person.

I want to be - I just kinda don't know how.

Know that friend who magicaly shows up with exactly what you need when you're in a bind?

I want to be that person.

The desire is there...

but when those situations arise, I am so emotionally stunted - so compassionately stupid - that I just kind of freeze.

My heart goes out to you. My thoughts are with you. I do actually pray for you. I send impotent words to comfort you...

But I do not know how to be the friend, sister, daughter, wife that I want to be.

This failing presents itself so often...and I cry about it...I've even read "The 5 Love Languages" and watched videos etc on how to address it. But the "answers" still don't come to me.

I have 2 friends presently in the hospital, and I feel powerless to help them.

I verbally offer to help - but that's not the same thing as, for example, when Elizabeth found out I was going to get my drug infusion and composed a list of podcasts for me to listen to while I'm in the chair for hours.

Elizabeth? Knows how to care about people.

And I murder my soul about the fact that I do not.

I tell myself terrible things - like that this is why it's probably best that I am not a mother - because I have this shocking inadequacy I cannot seem to overcome.

If you're in any way close to me - I want to love you. I honestly do. I just don't know how.

Loving is supposed to be easy and effortless, but it isn't for me.

And for that I am sorry.

It's not a failing of yours - it's an inadequacy of mine.

I literally have no idea why I am here

I literally have no idea why I am here.
Like most, I was gifted a modicum of talent.
And please trust me when I say I did what I could to develop it - at least within the bounds of my undertsanding.
I got degrees and volunteered and autditioned and wrote and campaigned.
Some people make headway. Some don't.
I repeatedly fell into the latter category.
It still bothers me.
And stories like, "Don't give up! So-and-so was 85 before they did whatever-it-is-they're-famous for!" don't really rouse me much.
Because I've seen a pattern - there's a certain "type" of person who makes it in this world.
It's difficult to define, but you know it when you see it - hell, the French even came up with a phrase for it.
As for the rest of us?
The greatest artists of all time died in anonymity.
No one ever knew their names.
The ones we know were middle of the road.
In the grand scheme.
Think about that...
I think about that.
I literally have no idea why I am here.
I have ideas but they live and die with me.
I try to share them, but nobody's listening.
I cannot sell them. Nobody's buying.
We're kind to others because we want to be liked.
Or because Heaven is watching.
Hell, too, I guess.
The greatest brains of all time died in anonymity.
Or were martyred.
Not a great choice there.
If I just had money or time or health or energy.
Seems all I've got are excuses.
And an extra 30 pounds.
If each pound were a piece of silver
maybe I, too, could sell my soul
and at least end up in the text.
As a villain, sure.
but THAT I've accomplished.
Told by every Janus that shared my genes
the degrees
to which I am loved and hated.
I literally have no idea why I am here.
I discarded Greer
but what the fuck is Miller?
What is this flesh with neuropathy and livedo?
The heart pills. The sleep pills.
The steroids are thinning my teeth.
The healthiest humans of all time died in anonymity.
Their bones lie like yours and like mine.
Ever seen those outlines
of the dead at Pompeii
and wondered who were they?
Like most, they were gifted with a modicum of talent.
Did they work to develop it - at least within the bounds of their understanding?
Are any of them left standing?
I literally have no idea why I am here.
I don't know how much longer I will stay.