Esquire0399
Be My Baby...
- Joined
- Jul 5, 2009
- Posts
- 2,158
- Reaction score
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- Location
- Baltimore
- Website
- seanholmanart.daportfolio.com
I wrote this at a time when my best friend and I were both in awful situations. The entire time we were amazingly supportive of each other, but equally awful at supporting ourselves. She had lymphoma and I was extremely depressed (borderline suicidal) over my sexuality. Ultimately we both made it through, everything turned out for the best, and we're closer than ever.
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I take a step back, gaze over my self-built horizon of whining and discontent with my own existence and I discover that my life has never been the struggle I’ve constructed it to be, hoped it would be, wished it could be. My complaints are little more than a manifestation of my embarrassing ignorance to the battles that you endure every day. See, you're the confident dreamer, the determined and gorgeous being, you are the embodiment of the story I wish I had to tell. It’s jealousy, to be honest. So unfair that you carry so much darkness and unfair that I can’t take even the smallest piece from you because I am simply incapable of sympathizing with your story, comprehending the wretched evil that you stare in the face every day, because I have no story. But you love me anyway with no regard for my lack of substance, because you are the only one who can see through me, recognize that my emptiness was never a void at all, only fear of my own story. Yeah, I guess I do have a story. I cower from my own dark reality and take comfort in your pain. What the hell? Why? Not because I hate you, but because I love you. Because I have the energy, the passion to help you push past your demons, stand by your side, but not my own. I recognize that I am far too weak to engage in war with my own, on my own. But I constantly ask myself, is my struggle a worthy complaint, when placed beside yours? And this is where I take a step back, gaze over my self-built horizon of whining and discontent with my own existence and I discover that my life has never been the struggle I’ve constructed it to be, wanted it to be, wished it could be. In reality, my life has rarely been that dark since you entered. Not because I never have to fight to stay sane, not because I don’t battle my own conscience and my mom’s and my dad’s, but because every day, when I step back, gaze over my self-built horizon, it’s always you, standing on the other side, waiting to show me that I too, like you, am that confident dreamer, that determined and gorgeous being with a story to tell. That’s why I love you and why every morning, I am so happy to take that step back and gaze over that self-built horizon.
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I take a step back, gaze over my self-built horizon of whining and discontent with my own existence and I discover that my life has never been the struggle I’ve constructed it to be, hoped it would be, wished it could be. My complaints are little more than a manifestation of my embarrassing ignorance to the battles that you endure every day. See, you're the confident dreamer, the determined and gorgeous being, you are the embodiment of the story I wish I had to tell. It’s jealousy, to be honest. So unfair that you carry so much darkness and unfair that I can’t take even the smallest piece from you because I am simply incapable of sympathizing with your story, comprehending the wretched evil that you stare in the face every day, because I have no story. But you love me anyway with no regard for my lack of substance, because you are the only one who can see through me, recognize that my emptiness was never a void at all, only fear of my own story. Yeah, I guess I do have a story. I cower from my own dark reality and take comfort in your pain. What the hell? Why? Not because I hate you, but because I love you. Because I have the energy, the passion to help you push past your demons, stand by your side, but not my own. I recognize that I am far too weak to engage in war with my own, on my own. But I constantly ask myself, is my struggle a worthy complaint, when placed beside yours? And this is where I take a step back, gaze over my self-built horizon of whining and discontent with my own existence and I discover that my life has never been the struggle I’ve constructed it to be, wanted it to be, wished it could be. In reality, my life has rarely been that dark since you entered. Not because I never have to fight to stay sane, not because I don’t battle my own conscience and my mom’s and my dad’s, but because every day, when I step back, gaze over my self-built horizon, it’s always you, standing on the other side, waiting to show me that I too, like you, am that confident dreamer, that determined and gorgeous being with a story to tell. That’s why I love you and why every morning, I am so happy to take that step back and gaze over that self-built horizon.