Restraining Order.

A Poem by October

Eh. I'm not sure. I just wrote what I felt... Now I feel better.

Restraining orders beating you purple. Chubby girls picking up my broken heart, dusting it off, and shoving it in my face. Yeah, I know, it’s about time somebody put me in my place. And I was out driving today when I saw the rib cage of an animal I hit a few months ago. I was thinking… Everyday the world is dying, but does that mean I can’t keep living? I guess I’m living for the day that I’ll wake up and say, “My God… The world is so beautiful.” Because, really, life inside itself can be the most ugliest, beautiful thing around. Ugly things can be beautiful. And he’s the perfect example of that. The most beautiful thing alive, but a heart so sharp it will cut you into. Leave you broken with no explanation. Things felt better today, though. I’m thinking maybe it’s because of you, but I can’t be positive. I’d like to think I’m healing on my own, but I don’t want to give myself too much credit. Does it matter if I don’t want to make love to you? I’m starting to wonder how much really relies on sexuality. More than I expected, so it seems. I think I’m void of all sexual desire. It would be comforting if I thought that didn’t matter. But anyway, it’s like I try to form my ideas into sentences that would reach everyone and wake them up inside. How am I doing that at all? By telling you how ugly I think life is, am I not just spilling ink on an already dirty piece of paper? But take this pen and write it all. I’m not the one to tell you, you won’t fall. How could I have thought that the Earth wouldn’t open itself and swallow me whole? Like I’m so special and all other members of the human race and damned. I apologize for the beliefs in my superiority. We’re all going to lose something once in awhile, whether it’s our lunch or the love of our life. Yeah, I called him a lot of things. I called him lover, I called him friend. I cried ashes across his chest, just in case he could make me clean again. He couldn’t. Only I can do that. But I have no reason to now, and there’s no one around to save me but myself. Which is better that way, I suppose, because I need my space. I’ll be strong until the next time a chubby girl picks up my broken heart, nothing but dust now, and shoves it in my face. Yeah, I know, it’s about time someone put me in my place, isn’t it?