Here and Back Again

I am idle and angry. Sad too, but not passively so.
I am large. My universe should be as large, with loud colors and bright sounds.
I am sorry that you must deal with the pieces that do not fit.
It makes no sense that my universe feels soft and fragile.
Lived so much, for so long.
Lived so loud and so vibrantly, to feel delicate.
My mistakes are never quietly made.
I have used my friend's patience so harshly and desperately, but always with the quiet, sweet plea in my eyes, "Love me anyway."
I do not drink enough anymore and really wish I did.
Bottoms of pints, bottoms of bottles, bottoms up in the air
and too many bodies to remember.
I hate being a pain in your ass.
Never again as it should be, but what it is,
but never really good with that either.
Bless all those loud, obnoxious-
help me I'm drowning
help me I'm lost
help me, hold my hand, make love to me and call me pretty
make it better because I can't
make it better because I don't know how
make it better because you're better than me
-mistakes.
Forgive me.
I blame the abuse. I blame the dark. I blame idle, festering anger just starting to surface.
It makes me sad,
but enough to fight a little harder.
I might need your help some more.
I might need your hand again.
I might need a way through the rain.
The difference, this time-
I remember the dark.
I understand the idleness.
I know about the low-grade frustration that sticks to tongue and bone.
I know that it gets better;
even if these mistakes are never quietly made.

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