On Letting Go

This is a lot easier said than done.
This is a lot easier said than done.
This is a lot fucking easier said than done.

Waiting is hard.
Trying is hard.
Living is hard.
But somehow, someway, there’s a wisp that guides me along to the end of each day.

I’ve tried to close off and be absent. That didn’t work. It hurt.
I’ve tried to be open, honest, genuine, available. That didn’t work. It also hurt.

I’ve heard that trying is having the intention to fail. And that might very well be true. It doesn’t make any sense, why all this shit is so hard. I don’t want to be pessimistic. I don’t want to become jaded. Because, when it comes down to it, I am a ridiculous person who is simply in need of overdue attention, affection, not rejection.

Sometimes I laugh at myself, with myself, at all the jumbled thoughts in my brain. Wishing I had a better way to hash it all out. I sing, I draw, I write, , I stand in the shower for hours till my skin becomes raisin like, neither of which seem to suffice.

Letting go will not be instantaneous. It won’t happen like the growth of a weed. Nor like the sprouting of a mad whitehead at the tip of the nose. It’s been years of letting go, and even still, I’m not successful. Maybe I’m doing something wrong, past all the wrongdoings that have been done to me. Maybe I’m doing myself wrong. Who the fuck knows. I don’t want to let go. Do I have to let go?

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