Maybe they didn't like me because I am the rain instead of being the rainbow.
Maybe they didn't stay with me because I am the storm instead of being the evacuation area.
Maybe they didn't fight for me because I am the war instead of being the soldier.
Maybe they didn't hold on because I am the virus instead of being the cure.
Maybe they didn't choose me because I am Medusa instead of being an Aphrodite.
If I'm pissed, they see it on the lines on my forehead or my nearly-touching eyebrows and it makes my face uglier.
I curse a lot too when I can't form into a coherent and calm sentence the disgust I want to express.
I throw things and punch walls and doors when I try to get a hold of myself at hurting someone.
I speak with an angry tone even when I try so hard to have a good-tempered conversation.
I blurt out harsh words whenever I'm in a tub of my own tears that I will soon regret the next day.
I impulsively delete meaningful text messages and sweet photographs or even block them from reaching me through my phone after feeling unloved and undervalued, that I will soon undo, if I can.
I am always the pain in the ass.
I am always the unbearable.
I am always the black sheep.
I am always the grenade.
I am always the chaos.
I am always too much to handle.
I am an unstoppable wrecking ball.
Maybe I am alone because I tend to push people away without even knowing it.
Maybe I am meant to just grow old with books to comfort me instead of someone's arms.
Maybe I am just sad.
-words by ascute montefalco