Letter From My Heart ... unfiltered

I'm a beast.  My mind sometimes forgets to filter and my heart runs wild like a feral animal on the loose; my mouth following suit.  I say it all wrong or I say nothing at all.  I think I sometimes back myself against my own brick wall.  I plan it all out with a finite detail similar to a mad scientist with her new chemistry set.  I play out all sorts of sordid scenarios and to be quite frank - they all end bad.  Then there are times I'm a little girl; sitting and dreaming with my pigtails swinging.  Don't worry.  Most of the time, I'm pretty good at shutting that little girl up.  Dammit! It's a craziness.  It's an insane laziness; afraid of success.  Afraid it'll be taken - ripped right of my outstretched hand.  Because you know what? That's what happened so many times.  I become afraid to dream.  So I push.  Push it all away before the final letdown.  I blast it away so fucking good.  Me and my six-shooting gun of a mouth.  Later I sit and bite my tongue till the blood starts trickling south.  Wondering if I said too much.  Railing at pretty, perfect people who have it all together.  Feeling so dirty in the sun.  So I sit in shadows - lamenting the touch.  Waiting for the end.  Never letting it even begin.  Waiting for the wave of goodbye.  Waiting for you to say I was never even worth it.  Sometimes I push it.  Just to see if that is indeed what you'll say.  It's not a deviant plan.  That kind of push is cerebral.  So instinctual.  Waiting to hear the rebuke for the shout at your constant insistence of me being beautiful.  Staying silent; waiting for the ugly to somehow spill through.  Waiting for you to see me as I do.  Shaking my head and spewing about how crazy you must be.  Internally thinking you're just too beautiful for me.  I had to fight for every damn thing.  Fight to walk.  Fight to talk.  Fight to be heard.  Fight at the absurd.  Fight for beauty.  Fight for my values.  Fight for the restless clues.  Fight for good dreams.  Fight for sleep.  Fight for the non-scheming things.  Fight to see the unseen.  That's what I know so fucking well.  The mother fucking fight that simply does not end.  So I wait.  And wait.  For the unfailing trend.  All this waiting.  All this debating.  Good God.  Here's an epiphany.  I'm waiting for you.  Because you're still here.  A stubborn ass cuss I can no longer rebuff.  Stronger and more stubborn than me.  I don't know how you do it.  I don't even know why.  My pale.  My bruise.  My dark.  My light.  My made up make-up.  My unmade.  My unclean.  My hardly ever seen.  You see me.