it hits me to the dome.
I contradict, I know. But you know, they don't leave any room for growth or mistakes or mistakes or anything. Then they wonder why I don't say shit. Then they beg and deplore my attitude of confidence, little do they know. So I come at them like missiles, blow by blow I tell 'em. I'm just like you, I may not go through the same shit, the same divorce, the same abuse, the same dangerous love, the same insecurities, but it's all the same. Except I see the future, I have that peek. I acknowledge the narrow door that's slightly open, but most importantly, I acknowledge the importance of opening it and getting through it. The shit within me that's a constant battle is something good. They say, "We're just trying to understand you." Well then get that I was trying to maintain what society is supposed to make of me, but it's not what I really want at all. It's that steel door that you can't melt that hides the deformities, but the steel door is a deformity in itself. Your deformities is the qualities you try to conform yourself into. What I'm trying to get at is fuck those conformities, what really matters to me is what everyone else claims are the deformities. That's what I've been trying to make, what's real is what pains you, and ultimately that pains me. Why am I pained by what drives me? What drives me is what sets me apart from you and you and you and you.. Almost a year ago, better yet what I was four months ago, is something I can barely recognize. You asked me of my beliefs, and I told you the contrite. I'm sorry, that's not me. It's like my whole life I've been working for that degree, that invite that says, yes you made it Jess, this is it. But what I've been working for my whole life, that kind of acceptance, isn't what I'm looking for anymore.
I hear her say things like I need him to tell me that I'm what he needs. I hear him call me princess, you're my princess, I'll give you everything. Fuck that, I'm not that. Hearing those things make me cringe, but at the same time I'm so patient because I'm nonqualititatve. I'm alright with that and I recognize that I'm not on the same step that you're on, I'm okay with that!!! Nonqualititative, you say, what's that? Think of someone that was just paralyzed and had to use a wheelchair for the first time. They see a ramp and they gotta make themselves up the ramp, but they're not used to it so their strength only takes them so far that their weight brings them back a couple inches, a couple feet. Me, I'm not inching the ramp anymore, I'm on stairs. I was on crutches, but now I'm healing and I gotta make myself up step-by step. I'm on the second level or I'm on the first. I'm on the tenth or I regress back to the eighth. The top is a light that's barely visible, but it's enough to attract me to get to it.
As much as this sounds go goddamn miserable, damn Jess you're so pessimistic. But how? I'm trying to be better and you're taking it as Jess, you think too much. So what, just because I don't have to go through as much bullshit to see what's real, that doesn't make me qualified to feel the way I feel, to think the way I think? I'm tired, I'm exhausted in questioning why I feel the way I do. As the days progress, I've become more and more receptive to the way I've discovered my own epiphanies. And I know God, this is one of the deadliest sins, pride is one of the deadliest sins. But I come to your house every Sunday and tell you, "Don't worry about me, it's them you have to worry about." I'm trying to be an instrument, but who's oil do I use to tune me up, theirs, Yours, or mine?
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