All of my words have been so bitter and broken. And then I compensate: I exude when I'm not exuberant; I spin hopeful positives to assuage. But just because I believe them does not mean I feel them.
It is a battle. A battle to fight, and nothing I say or do or imagine is going to change or hide that. I refuse to pretend I'm not uneasy. I am depressed. I am lonely. I am unhappy. I am between empty worlds, pondering lives and places unlikely and extreme. I want to run. I want to jump and dive and walk and prance and fly. I want to soar!
I want to escape numbness and nausea. I want to stop finding empty nooks to corporate, which is all I ever do, which is all I've ever done.
I want my life! Whatever, wherever, however, whoever, (whenever?), that might be. I want my life!
I can be happy. I knew that already though, right? I can be happy. But I already knew that.
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