I have pin straight hair.

It is limp and lacks

a life; unspeakable, unfathomable life.

It mimics movement

with cuts here 

and here

and there.

And layers upon layers.

But it is not the same.

And sometimes I wish

I had a wild head of hair,

that could be untamed

and free.

Not lackluster or easily

drawn

and tied

and controlled.

I really dislike my feet.

A lot of people say that though.

So what makes this any different?

My toes are strange lengths and one foot is definitely bigger than the other.

And in any shoes I wear, you can see the edges of my toe lines.  You know what I’m talking about.  It’s so irritating.

But, those things have been like that since I was born.

I can’t do anything to change it, and I’ve grown accustomed to seeing my index toe longer than my thumb toe.  I know those aren’t the scientific names for them, but it’s what I call them.

I’m used to those things because they have been given to me, without me having any say whatsoever.

I was never given an option to make my toes strange or “normal” lengths. My mother never asked me in the womb, “Oh child, do you want to have a strange arch in your heel that will make you tiptoe well into adulthood?”

That was never an option.

But my feet are also irritating in a whole other way—

in a way that I had a say in.

And I made and molded them into whatever they are now.

They have lots of cuts on the heels and tops and by my second toe.

They are a constant reminder of where I have been,

the mistakes I have made,

and the mistakes I never did because I was too afraid to even try.

…

Sometimes I try to jam them into shoes I know they won’t fit into because I want to hide them

or make them

beautiful too.

But even in the prettiest shoes, or the tallest of heels,

I can still see the scars from all those past cuts.  And I think that maybe 

I don’t learn. 

I form new cuts

and force myself to endure whatever painful reminder will form

because that’s the only way I know how to grow.

I think that we all have past lives.

And our souls know it.  We remember bits and pieces,

but our brains and bodies are tired 

of holding a past that doesn’t

fit together perfectly—

of a past that is blurry in some edges, and jagged in others.

So we pull that past further and further down, weighted by the immenseness of it all.

But we remember some parts.

Because those souls are complicated, like us.

And they don’t like being forgotten.

But still, I think the parts I remember, I distorted.

I think the parts I remember, I became afraid of.

Because this feeling I have right now,

I know that in this life, I’ve never had it before.

I know that in this life, the past is trying not to catch up with me.

Because they don’t want me to feel pain.

It’s something they all know a little too well.

I like to believe that my past souls are sitting ‘round somewhere, hoping that I don’t make the same mistakes they do, but encouraging me to make my own.  Because when my life is done, I’ll be able to sit with them and guide the next dear soul we share our lives with.

But, 

for now, I think that the feeling I’m feeling,

isn’t a warning sign

or a naive claim to happiness.

I think it’s true,

and even if it ends up being a mistake that my past lives knew too much about, 

I really do see it as something more.

Because I’ve never felt something as easy as this.

And I really have never wanted to fall more than I have now.

Everyone and everything else just pales in comparison.

And I think even my past can agree with that.

I’ve lost all inspiration

and nothing I write or say will ever be

good enough or

memorable enough or

smart enough.

I’m a fraud.

I don’t walk listlessly through streets

or aimlessly through cramped railcars.

I live in one of the most unromantic, easily accessible places, times, eras.

And it’s exhausting to have to 

try

to be artistic.

I’ve lost all inspiration

because I probably never even had it in the first place.

I know there will be plenty more days and nights like this one.

and I’m going to question everything and everyone,

and sometimes I am going to want to revert,

take back everything,

make things as okay as they possibly can be.

But they’re not.

talking to you made me realize that.

nothing after something like that is ever

just

okay.

and as painful as it is, I just can’t do this either.

I lost a huge part of myself, and I don’t know if I can ever get that back.

we are too complicated to accept even the simplest of truths.

and we may say we want simplicity,

but the truth is,

we crave complexity.

and even if something is right there

within reach,

it’s too much to just say

“yes,

I want

it

you

everything.”

If I ever had a child or was a really fantastic auntie, 

I would never belittle their questions.

I would answer their “why” and “how”.

And if I did not know, I would admit it,

and learn with them, side by side…

perhaps using Wikipedia or whatever method of quick learning we might have twenty years from now.

I would never want to become someone so apathetic to knowledge,

nor would I want them to be.

I really don’t understand a lot of things.

And I try to,

but life is far too short for us to understand

and fully comprehend

even the most seemingly routine and normal of things.

And maybe I just don’t want to waste time

trying to understand this anymore.