I'm a pack rat.

I am a pack rat. There I said it. I'm not ready to admit that to my husband. He points it out to me and I justify everything I have shoved, stacked, piled and 'filed'. First, let me make it clear that I do not have magazines or newspapers neatly stacked in ANY room of my house! I am not THAT kind of pack rat! I like to shove them into drawers...ha, not really. I keep SOME b-day cards, letters, pictures, things that mean something and things I write. I like to write, so sometimes I jot down thoughts where ever the mood hits. That sometimes means writing on a napkin or a receipt... so they get shoved into a drawer until I dig through, read them again, and decide if they are worth 'saving'. For what I don't know. Today I found one that I though was worth keeping. I don't remember the circumstances that I wrote it, but it did provoke some feelings I'm glad are gone. I thought I'd post it. I do not conceder myself a writer so take that into consideration!

I love you, but not the way you think. I love the way you fill the hole inside of me, the way I'd feel without you. I clench my teeth and smile the perfect smile for you. I sneer behind tinted frames, for keeping it deep. I express myself with hiding to make you grin. The love I feel you can't understand.

In a hole I dig deep. I want to hide and never see the truth behind. The masks of color I paint are fragile and weak. My mind is a dark place to be. It slithers out of the corner of my eye enough to frighten, then disappears. Lost are the shadows that could close the darkness. Stepping down I can feel you there, all around, waving slowly at my ankles. Sometimes touching my soul with your rancid fingertips. I exhale the color of smog, the taste of decay. The beautiful longing for nothing. Take me, I give up; do with me what you will. Make it sorrowful. Make it quick. What do I care, I'm not here for long. I just have to inhale, that’s it.