When it Rains, It fucking pours

Writing

I have no idea what home feels like.

I’ve prostrated myself to love. Finding myself descending deeper and deeper in a darker place trying to find clarity. I feel as though I’ve out grown home. I just find myself wanting to just be wasted and distracted.

Escaping myself and who I am. I don’t really treat myself with kindness or respect I abuse my mind and my body.

I don’t sleep. I hardly eat. It gets to a point where I just feel like divine intervention is inevitable and i will perish. I simply black out though.

There’s these little moments when you look into someone’s eyes and you can see how every single person you meet is freaking out. Their facial expressions mean so little when everything you ever need to know about someone is right in front of you. You can feel the air of loneliness around them, the panic that hisses through their pores.

The greatest things I’ve ever created just put themselves together. If I have to force it or try too hard it just falls apart.

These words. Sometimes they just come together.

By default, I’m not this dark of a person. By default I am just a introvert who enjoys a good book at my best. There’s this middle ground though of where I feel the most alone. Where books and music and alcohol just don’t help anymore. I get lost and caught up and it
Feels like hell. In the best possible way. Not torturous or painful. It just feels like the absolute worst place to be.

And I can never escape that.

I can’t escape my desire for love and attention. I just feel like a king when a woman loves me back and just wants me. Only me.

But that’s all so hard, to have someone want me, with all of
These insecurities and scars that aren’t visible but you can see the scars with every “I love you”
I speak. It doesn’t make the phrase any more powerful or weak. It shows that I mean those words. That no matter how deep your cuts are on me I will always love. I will always mean it.

I create the best poems and stories when the wounds are fresh. When my
Mind starts panicking and I keep trying to figure out what to do. That’s when, at exactly
Those moments the words just come together.

It’s more about the moment for me, not the words but the moment that it all falls together

What has love done for me? It’s taught me about pain. Love doesn’t just abruptly end. No, no it lingers. The pain settles in the back of your throat and makes your stomach contort. The pain of love is so insurmountable. You can’t compare it to physical pain. Its so much more

Moments matter so much more to me than anything else.

All the components of any moment are what make it special, the people, the place, the scents in the room that lingered, the level of intoxication that I was on.

Moments prove to me that maybe my existence is much more than what I believe. Moments are loves currency every memory that passes through leaves brief moments of
Joy in my heart.

I ask too many questions because I’ve been raised in doubt, doubts that anyone comes back. Doubts that anyone will love me enough to stay. Doubts that I do any good.

Maybe Ive been emulating the only relationships I have had.

Emulating the distant relationship with my grandfather who only
Cared about himself. Emulating the overly zealous care of my grandmother.

I dissolved the relationships I’ve seemed to build with my family. I don’t Speak to my “cousins” or “aunts and uncles” they’ve always caused more. Confusion than anything else.

At my mothers funeral, the day her children buried her. My
Cousin Jay E, goes to my grandmother and with all of the power in his drug soaked bones he tell her. ” I think I’m Misean’s father”

I never found out my grandmothers reaction. I was too busy trying to figure out if my mother was gonna break free from her casket and give me one last hug. I didn’t even find out this conversation happens until I was fifteen years old.

The ride in the limo back to one of my aunt’s North Carolina country side
Homes was probably the most painful experience.

That’s beside the point.

I don’t really believe in the iconic phrase “family
Over everything”. For me family has represented an always strained bond that is constantly
Being stretched beyond repair. There have been no successful reunions or bonds created within my family. The only ones that truly matter. My brother and sister and grandmother.

I have no idea what home feels like, because I’ve never felt like I really had a
Family to make anywhere feel like home. Home should feel like I belong. Home shouldn’t feel empty and alone. I thought it was supposed to be warm and inviting, like the embrace of a mother. The entire structure of my family was broken before I even came to exist.

Yet home feels that way. Maybe it is who I am. Maybe it is me. Maybe I’m not worthy of home or feeling like I deserve a family.

After a while I began to realize that all of the tragedies are synonymous with the person I am becoming. There is no one to blame for it. There is just myself and those moments. The moments seem to be all that remain. How much of me is left over after the moments pass?

There isn’t a remedy for regaining lost pieces of yourself. All you can hope for is to rebuild yourself and repress it all.

What’s the point of rebuilding when the foundation is broken?

I didn’t inherit self destruction. I learned it along the way. Learning that my father would rather end his own life than to allow anyone else to break his heart or hurt him again was one of the moments. Probably the only moment that mattered.

No one can hurt you more than you can hurt yourself. We just allow the people we care about to hurt us.

I never really liked being in solitude and isolated but after a while the dark corners of the room felt like sunshine and the loneliness didn’t feel so harsh. I just got used to these things. Never meant that I truly wanted them.

Truthfully, in all complete honesty. I feel like the search for love or a new home, is just another hunt for a new place to drown out all the noise and grasp my focus.

I don’t know if my mental health is deteriorating or maybe I’ve already lost everything.

Where did I go?

It’s hard to feel okay, alright, fine, when everything gets taken away and you have no control over what stays or goes. Even when you know everything fades.

If there’s a way to burn everything down.

I’d destroy it all.

This started out about me finding home. Now it’s become a illustration of the current nihilistic torture I’ve fallen into. Again.

And again.

I’d like to blame this all on the child in me that committed suicide when the dirt hit my mothers casket, I’d like to blame this all on the teenager in me who died of heart break one too many times.

This is all my fault though. All blames fall on me. Isn’t it?

I can’t help but feel evil because my selfish searches.

Thoughts rise with the moon and settle when dawn breaks.

Take my hand and never let go, let’s venture through our woes and come out with new eyes for love and life.

Sift through the gray clouds with me help me find the sunshine.

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