Fine, Maybe Its Me

Pete Bellis

Maybe it’s the lane I get excited about the interesting thing and the room my sees utter everything apart. Like how they talk or how they like their chocolate or what kind of hound they want to buy. The mode I could talk to someone for hours and never get bored. The channel I question personal the issues and share too much too soon. Maybe it’s the style I live the present moment to the point where I don’t think about the consequences or what’s going to happen tomorrow because what matters to me is how to fix best available out of these beautiful instants. The moments that don’t happen every day. The few hours you get to share with a special person.

Maybe it’s how contradicting I am. A pointless dreamy with too much dignity. A giver with her sentries up high-pitched. A skeptic who believes in fairy tale. A realist with a wild resource. A confidential being with a tough husk.

Maybe it’s how I can’t find the balance. How I switch from one extreme to another. How I proceed from saying too much to saying nothing. How I exit from loving too much to standing far away. How I extend from yielding too much to not dedicating anything at all. Perhaps my fear is containing me back from going all in because the last duration I croaked all in, I lost everything. Or perhaps it’s the fear of handing my all to the mistaken party again.

Maybe it’s my integrity. Perhaps I don’t leave any mystery because I think it’s pointless. Why be inexplicable when you can be transparent? Why say acts you don’t mean just so you can tally a few more appointments? Why feign that you don’t like someone when you can’t stop thinking about them? Why lie when you can tell the truth ? Why annoy too much about what beings will say or reckon when they are able to determined yourself free? Why manipulate someone into affectionate who you’re not?

Maybe it’s my luggage. The one I don’t genuinely hide. The one I’ve been carrying alone for years and I won’t impersonate like I don’t some help with it. The one that’s been draining me over and over again and I expect love to help me unload some of it because the way I see it, two is always better than one. The way I see it, your baggage meets you human and strong and susceptible. Your disfigures manufacture you an extraordinary person. Your tragedies determine you beautiful and if I have to lie about all of that, then I might as well succumb. I might as well give up everything I’ve built and everything I’ve learned and become a perfectly repetitious being. A person who gave up on their outstanding floor to be a secondary person in someone else’s narrative. And I refuse to be that person. I refuse to be the girl who’s remorseful of her baggage. I refuse to be the girl who pretends to be light-footed and wintry and stoic when she can’t even catch a shatter from all the heaviness in her heart.

Maybe it’s me but this is who I am. I can tweak some things and is currently working on others but it’s always going to be me and it took me a very long time to like myself. It made me a very long time to accept the imperfect and bruised parts of me. It made me a very long time to realize that I could do everything right and still get it inaccurate because I’m not being true-blue to myself. It took me a very long time to realize that maybe it’s me but I wouldn’t have it any other channel and if that’s a problem for someone, one day it will be a solution for someone else.

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