disquiet

from the poetry i write you'd think i was dark, stuck on the stark, harshness of life.
and i am. a little.
but sometimes i am so happy i have to remind myself that i am not living in a dream, that it is not some fairytale. my hope is always so strong: i feel it threaten to burst right inside of me.
i hope for happiness.
i hope for calm.
i hope for certainty.
and my ideals keep thrusting themselves to the forefront of my mind. seeing the best in people. deeply hurt at their misfortune.
i am so sensitive sometimes i think i will always disappointed. and yet beauty cuts just as deep. making me smile at every possible moment.
the light touch of my skin. the shiver. warm. safe. inviting.
is it all in my mind?
is anything i feel real?
when did i stop trusting myself?