i wonder why the only feelings i feel are the ones that are the deep, aching ones. the feelings that rip and bend and tear through until even the shreds can’t feel anything anymore so they sew themselves back together because the agony of being torn apart is this craving, this secret ecstasy. the guiltiest pleasure. the torment. and the odyssey.
i wonder why i like feeling sad the same as i like laughing my ass off. i wonder why i nurture tears, to water my soul? i wonder why i can feel the most intimate things and then hurry to cover them up and bury them, hidden treasures i’d rather just share with myself. people knowing me isn’t really all that safe. but i wonder why.
i wonder why i feel justified in advocating for others yet fall short for my own self. i wonder why at times i’d rather wallow in self pity then make a change for the better. i wonder why i can laugh and laugh and laugh and then feel that same feeling return again, that same scraped clean feeling, of being emptied, of the hollow knocking, echoing and the silenced by the chaos of never really knowing anything at all.
i wonder why i can so easily paint myself into a corner yet never feel pinned down to anything. how i feel like this whispy cloud floating around, and also dissolving. i wonder why i am invisible yet i don’t want to be fully seen. i wonder why i choose isolation over integration. the true antidote, the true cure to what ails me is the thing i rail against sometimes. and then the reverberating question of; am i actually a worthwhile person to know? i wonder if i’m interesting enough, honest enough, whatever enough. i wonder.
and then i know, but i still tempt wonder, with asking-well how will i know?