mental ticker tape

Just once I would like to hear "Yes, I want you here, please come." rather than "It's all up to you, you can come, or you can not, makes no difference to me." Without the reason being some dire drama filled crying phone call. Why is it so easy to be desperate? But you can't say what you want on any normal fucking day?

I'm tired of crying. I'm tired of people who I let make me cry. Doesn't matter the reason, hurt, pain, happiness, a commercial. I want it all to stop.

I either want to be a mind reader, or I want people to stop expecting me to be one.

I'm tired of second hand information. I'd like to hear things from you. I'd like to know that the silences are not you telling someone else, what you could be telling me.

I'd like to know what to say. All the time. I'd like to stop the gut wrenching worrying that I'm going to say the wrong thing. Be the wrong person. Not be sympathetic enough, caring enough, involved enough. I'd like to not know that I'm entirely self-involved. Or better yet, I'd like to not be entirely self-involved.

I'm tired of stipulations on all my relationships. I'm tired of: well you'll only get this far, unless you do this. I don't want any more fucking ultimatums, unspoken or not. I'll compromise as much as the next person. I'll work just as much as you will to keep this connection going. But stop toying with me.

I'm tired of distance. Real miles as well as metaphysical. Probably more metaphsyical, since I can change locations at any given time, but I don't always know how to reach you when you're right next to me.

I'm tired of double standards. I no longer want to be an open book. I don't think I ever wanted to be one.

I'm tired of pink elephants. I'm tired of secrets. I'm tired of having things to confess. I'm tired of duality.

I'm tired of jealousy. Extremely tired of this merry go round of emotions.

I'm tired of wanting. Of all kinds.


I don't know why I never take the time to write the things in my head that make me happy. The things that bring me joy. Probably because when I am happy I want to be furthest I can be from words, from pens and paper, and this machine for the purpose of writing. These are just the build up of things, from every day, things that have refused to go away, or be addressed. Things that pop into my head, that popped into my head when I looked at this page.