In my usual state of reflections,
I feel this mustering grace of intellect that seems to doom me in some trivial way.
I become the bad guy in a woman’s wrap of nature and the enemy is sworn; because in all my caring – I sound so angry?
But when I don’t do it enough, people think I don’t care about them?
I don’t understand how to achieve balance when I feel required to meet these eccentric needs of requirement.
At least it feels like requirement, when I all I really wish for is my harmony’s chord to sing and I can disgrace myself further and protrude the distance of “perfection.” Whatever that is.
I used to feel reckoned by the necessitated action of Atelophobia where I understood it as my fear.
Of all my failings, I eat failure everyday just to see what comes about when I’m not looking in the right direction.
When my feet are stagnant, my eyes are gazing thousands of miles away, and my head is turned, tuned to the disturbance of my focus.
No slow-down even when I stub my toe or walk into the pole.
Wipe the bruise a bit on my forehead, big monotone “ow” and right to business.
I feel so much need by this “community legacy effect.”
As if I better my own life, I am inherently bettering my community such as my friends family’s, neighbor life.
All those I hold in my gentle grace.. and they’re all so different?
Some need the soft, charismatic tone. Others prefer a mentality of Retired Drill Instructor for me to break through to them; otherwise they taunt me saying I’ve gone soft. Some need the intellectual, coffee table book discussion aspect.
When those are all parts of me.
Of a girl that wears many masks without putting one on; I’m tired of those thinking my outfit or my music or my “vibe of the day” dictates the “persona” I pull out of the closet for the moment.
If I don’t please to the utmost capability of one, I chose the other side.
What I want.. does not consort to whoever’s disappointment I just nourished.
I am as I am, and that’s just Sam.
All there is of me, is indefinite.
My birthday glooms sooner and mid-20s 24, I am not excited of.
As I start to get into a roll and my obligations just seems like papers to shit out in a few moments, and my self-care, esteem, and worth have been pivoting from each foot – I already accept that I am who I am.
There’s a lot to work with. The day changes and maybe some will think I look good, others an abomination.
I refuse to stand in the mirror for a glimpse and catch myself in an abhorrent stare-off when I don’t recognize Sam, but otherwise.. some sort of cosplaying-people-pleaser.
I’ve don’t for 23; I simply can’t afford another moment.
If it takes wearing sweats until the funds for new pants and lightweight layers are found.. you’re getting all I am.
One day, I will put on the dresses and skirts and I’ll trade dainty loafers instead of vans, sneaks, trainees, and Chelsea Boots.
I think sooner, at least in my hoping, those that downcast in judgment; see that’s just who makes me.
No Uniform, All Style.
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