In the middle of the night, talking in my pain, in my rage, in my unmet need, in my solipsistic fury, in my lonely-shit state, in my abandoned hurting child, in my wanting love and broken love and broken trust and wanting trust and needing consistency and eating chaos. In my cold and tired and frightened and violated. In my room. In MY room. In my room. In my fear and vulnerability, in my hoping against hope I won’t regret later saying or not saying, writing or not writing, doing or not doing. In my desperate desire that the littlest fucking thing will be used as grounds to hurt me, deny my needs, stomp on feelings, violate boundaries, use & abuse & discard. In my wishing so hard that someone in this chaotic self-absorption would have a mind at work and a heart that works and the nerve to face their demons so I don’t have to keep getting slammed to the ground by their runaway socially sanctioned unexploded and unexplored flaws and… I need… sleep… in my night… I reach… I fight… I yearn. I yearn in my night for relief. In my night for rest for a weary soul. In my night for knowing I can get angry and draw a line in the sand and not get tsunami’d to prove I am nothing to a bitter, vengeful, self-absorbed ocean. If you’re better than me, act like it, motherpussbucket. In my night, in my shadow, I fight, and yet while am at it, I get handed others’ shadows too, and for some reason I get upset. Fight your own shit, this is not what I’m here for. Stop wasting my time. I’m cold, I hurt, I want a nap, I want someone who believes me, I want it to be easier, I want to be cared about in action more than words, more than bonbons of apologies after the fact when what I needed was someone to do something hard and inconvenient for themselves without making it A Huge Thing, just because they care that I can’t fight alone and survive. I need… in my night… safety… sanctuary…