Beautiful Mess

I'm a mess! I'm complicated and neurotic and messy and psychotic and needy and soft spoken and I shout at the top of my lungs for you to leave me alone - it's take it or leave it, can't choose the best parts for your scrapbook as you perceive it. You either love me or you don't - most chose the latter - you want me to change, but you know I wont...

I've been called a bitch when it's been called for, but it's when it's uncalled for that it gets to me

I've been called J.Lo and Shakira because of my butt, but I don't mind - it's possibly the second thing man sees from space, but I like it that way - cushions my falls

I've never been in love - I've felt the stomach turn and the knees get weak and the heart thumping like a bunny on drugs, but it's never last - I don't have it in my genetic makeup to make it last

Yet I'm a firm believer in monogamy and whether I see really old couples, with more wrinkles then hair on their heads, my heart melts - holding hands, not for freshly in-love anymore!

I think I'm beautiful, but a bad hair day can make me falter and creep in under the covers, hiding from the surrounding world, like it stands and falls with the strands of my hair - and even though I've got an armada of gorgeous hats, it just never occurs to me to make the best of the situation - I'm shallow and walking a thin line between good self esteem and complete devastation

I love dancing in the rain and to hear it drum on the window sills while sitting under a warm blanket with some whiskey - but I hate getting wet and will run and hide and shriek and curse until it hits me that instead of letting it bother me, I can let it become me - and dance

I can run a marathon in high heels and not trip nor get shaken in my very foundations, even when I'm on cobbled streets in a brand new place and it's dark so I can't see - but I walk into door jambs around my old apartment, like I have no idea where they are

I've got tons of scars, from being a Tomboy and climbing countless trees and fighting countless boys and outrunning and outsmarting them all while growing up - and from those two times I nearly lost my life together with those skid-marks on my panties - but if you'd trace my body with your fingers, you wouldn't find a single mark - I heal remarkably well - externally

Wishing I could support myself by my writing, and host another gallery opening with my art and be able to do graphic design and just be, the artist and writer that I am, deep inside, underneath it all - but still at the end of the day, I need to have my life sorted into nice labeled boxes, pie charts, alphabetized, put away for storage - at the reach of my hand, just at the tip of my fingers

I dress rather eclectic, with designer labels mixed with old, worn out jeans and a pair of stiletto heels and a baseball cap and a shopping bag thrown over my shoulder, yet I'm always professional, and the pantyhose almost grow out of my legs themselves - but would you come by unannounced, I wouldn't open the door, cause you might catch me in my PJ's, or my ex boyfriends old sweat pants, held up by pure will, and a Playboy t-shirt and no undies...

All I wish for is some stability in my roller-coaster life, with a good job and a white picket fence and someone to come home to - and I'm fully aware that at the end of the day, I still want to be able to skip town on a minutes notice, not even packing, just go, wherever the next flight is going, and see where life takes me

I'm a planner, I write lists, I research, find out the background information, see everything from every possible side before making my mind up - I'm reckless and I just decide, and when I've made my decision, nothing will make me falter in my beliefs - I can change my mind at the drop of a hat

Things that hurt me, I never forget, and even though I might not think about them ever again, all it takes is a hint of a memory, and I'll know exactly whom done me wrong and how - I've got the memory of an elephant, sadly I focus on the bad things instead of remembering compliments and praise I've gathered over the years

Very little becomes me, because I was hurt once, badly, in my life and decided never to let anyone have that much power over how I feel, and make me feel so low and shitty like then, ever again

I'm not happy - but I'm heading in that direction - life is a marathon, it starts when you are born, and death is the goal - it all comes down to what you do during the run

I know I can hurt someone worse with a single word then any action, yet there is no connection between brain and mouth some times, and the oral diarrhea hits me unexpected, getting the best of me, and there is not enough TP in the world to clean up the shit I heave out of myself - occasionally, I bite my own tongue so hard it starts to bleed - pacifist, diplomat, eloquently shutting up

I don't know how to give advice, because I don't want to impose my ideas on others, even though I will run you over if you disagree with me, because I come prepared to the arguments I engage in, and if I back down, you know I'm regrouping and I will hit you with my best shot the moment my cannons is re-calibrated, and you wont even see it coming, and you'll pick up the pieces of your shattered arguments, sweeping the dust off yourself, under the rug, and move on - and I'm adorable and with a crooked, cute smile I'll tell you you're completely right, stroking you gently over the back

I'm snappy and bity and witty and insecure so my intestines tremble but you will never see my cry nor falter unless you come real near, deep inside, where I hide all my secrets from the world, afraid they would go up in flames if I'd let the sun shine on them - I nurture my neuroses and psychoses and fears and enjoy the occasional panic attack for the heck of it - and feel I'm alive, because fear is what keeps my heart pounding like a drum

I'm the most poised, calm and controlled person you'll ever meet and you'll admire me for being that until I slide up in the convertible you're driving at an interstate and throw my hands out to the sides, feeling the wind nearly knocking me out of the car, screaming at the tops of my lungs and laughing so hard I nearly wet myself and not beg you to slow down because you are going too fast - life is to be lived - nobody regrets on their deathbed the things they did, just the things they didn't do

I'll give you a good tongue lashing or the silent treatment and you wont ever want to go through another, but you'll always, always see them coming, and not once will you guess correctly which one it will be - those come up randomly, just like the temper tantrums I keep throwing without prior notice

I'm a mess. You either love me or you can't stand me. Leave. Get out.

Most chose the latter.

I'm hard to stomach. I get that. I like that. I don't see myself as a bundle of contradictions, because I'm too organized to be a bundle of anything but labels and lists and pie charts. And I'll fix your life into a rout too, then hate you for letting me mess you up.