Realization

Why is it always easier to dwell on the sad times

than to relish in the moments of happiness?

Are we only victims of our own pain,

cursors of our own joy?

I recently told an acquaintance of mine

"Stop looking for your own happiness within others."

I find it odd that I can pick out my own faults in others,

and yet I can't even fix them.

I repeat the same sick cycle of abuse.

Forever allowing people to beat me to the core. 

I feel I will never know acceptance

because I can still never accept myself.

It is easier to let someone hate you

than to allow someone to love you.

Why do I push away those who love me

and cling to those to will never care?

Revived

Is it just that I am a fiend for pain?

Or simply that when I'm not feeling anger or sadness I do not know what to feel.

Perhaps it is that both may be true. 

Most days I feel nothing more than a lost soul walking this earth, 

waiting to discover whatever purpose I was supposed to have. 

Then again, I wonder if I do have purpose. 

What if I am just put on this earth as God's sick joke?

A menace to society, a burden to those who chose to let me enter their lives. 

I recount that an ex boyfriend of mine used to state that "you're in love with your sadness." As of late I have found this to be disturbingly true. There's a sort of inner beauty to sadness, a sort of vulnerability if you must. My words are only found in a looming state of depression. The inspiration only comes during the nights I sit alone with tears in my eyes and a bottle of wine in my grasp.

I am a victim for abuse. I cling to those who treat me worse than the dirt on their shoe. In misery I am alive. With pain there is always passion. I yearn for those who bring me down to my knees. Writhing in agony, I am for once vulnerable. You've seen my breaking point, you've seen my soul. For it is words, not blows, that hurt the most.

Take away my control, take away my soul, strip me clean of who am I am, I'll only love you more...