Faded Blue Jeans

My Honest Poem

I fall in love with illogical things. Crazy, I know, but it's more efficient than loving someone who will never love back.

I'm way too methodical, but also shambolic, like I can't seem to let go of things that I obviously don't need.

I have a love/hate relationship with scrutiny. Most days I want all of it, but others, I wish it would drop off a 10,000 ft overhang.

I often recall most things, but if you ask me to go to another room I'm probably going to forget what you sent to retrieve. 

I feel like my confidence put in her 30 day notice 3 years ago. My self esteem resting in the pit of my stomach, laying in the acid, not caring that it's burning her pride. My depression clawing it's way up my throat, past my varicose tonsils, and engraving itself on the pinnacle of my tongue.

My motivation simply planning his suicide because he can't take it anymore in this body, my body. My body isn't a very welcoming home anymore. There's now cracks where once there was fresh drywall. 

My anxiety and insomnia are companions. The anxiety clenches me in a compact grasp, so even if I wanted to elude It'd be difficult. She shows no humanity for my feelings. Even when the insomnia finally is done with the blows to my mind, the abstruse thoughts are still loitering in the past memories that I've tried to omit from the cramped filing bureau I can't get rid of, because there's no easy way to leave this body, but only when it turns into a corpse, will I unbound.

My mood turning faster than the treadmill, telling me that the quantity of my bodies mass isn't going disappear on it's own. And when I say treadmill I mean my brain. And when I say my brain I mean the quite opposite. I mean my feet taking me back to the ice box for another belate snack even though MY BRAIN is hollering at me to put that hot pocket back, because if I don't, I'll rue it.

Hi! I'm Natalie.

I enjoy perfect tranquility, being ravenous, and hilarity. I use vast words, because I want to be seen as perceptive. Often times, I laugh in places where I should be crying, because I'd hate for you to get to close to pivot the conversation on how miserable your day, week, or year is going. 

I'm a sucker for a guy who has stupendous grammar, a robust build, and can comprehend my ungodly humor.

I can't stand imprise intimacy, benighted people, and insincere cups. 

I'm 5'5, heavily built, and sufficiently spiritual, but not religious.

I've been told I was rugged around the edges, super desolate, and I cry too much. But lately, I've only cried when I wasn't accompanied by another person.

People tell me that I'm prepossessing, but how many times is enough to make a person accept the heavy truth.

I have this dismay that one day everything I've come to be attached to will all evaporate.

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This is my first poem. It was inspired by Rudy Francisco, and Sabrina Benaim.