I’ll remember every poisonous word you say; I’ll lock it away and let it haunt me when I lay awake at night, going over everything – every glance, every sigh, everything you never said but was screaming at me from the way you held your body, not close quite close enough to mine.
I’ll feel those “harmless jokes” in the pit of my stomach and wear them like white ink tattoos on my skin. I will lock myself in the bathroom and cry until I can’t breathe whenever we fight because I cannot handle the way you look at me when you’re mad. I’ll see problems where they don’t exist; I’ll hear harsh words in your silence and feel the miles between us when you turn over to sleep at night.
I will forgive but never forget, I don’t know how to.
But I am not made of glass, I will not shatter when you hurl those accusations at me, when you try to mold me to fit your own ideals.
No, I’m made of fire- I am wild and a little out of control and sometimes I burn so fiercely, it pushes people away. But only because I hold so much of life’s disappointments inside me, only because I care too much, I feel too much and I want that to be my strength, not my weakness.
I care if you dislike a part of who I am – even if that part is selfish or impatient or too much, I want you to love it. I care if we fight and I hurt you – I’ll try to fix it, you, us. I will try to be better, I’ll go over and over it until I am able.
I’ll be stung if your comments hit too close to that place which is not enough and I will forever wish I could be perfect. I am only human- someone who has been ridiculed for too much of my life, who has loved fiercely, chased my dreams recklessly and failed more than I care to admit.
So maybe I do bite back when someone hits a nerve, maybe I do ruminate over words fired and not meant, and maybe I shed too many tears over life’s disappointments and pain- not just my own but those I love, those I don’t anymore and those unknown faces I see suffering from half a world away.
And maybe some days I become so consumed by my feelings that only the quiet and my notepad will heal me. Maybe I just need to pull it apart to make sense of it, maybe I need more time than most.
But I do not wish to be different, I do not wish to build a wall around my heart, to stop feeling everything so intensely because that is the only way that makes sense to me. To dive right in, to be vulnerable and raw and honest. To open myself up to everything this world has to offer, even if it’s scary as hell, even if I regret it.
So do not call me “overly sensitive” when I cry during an argument or when I become overwhelmed by life’s hurdles. Do not mock me for wearing my heart on my sleeve or worrying and stressing over problems I cannot solve.
Because I am not overly sensitive, I just give a damn.