Half

Half-filled journals sit on my shelf. They are full of half-written entries and half-explained ideas. Poetry that was left without rhythm, or stories left on cliff hangers. Each one started out with the best of intentions, full of ideas that I couldn't wait to explore.

Half-filled sketchbooks are hidden under my dresser, in my backpack, and between my books. Each holds half-finished drawings and sketches, art on which I gave up or during which I fizzled out. They too had potential for beauty, to become something of which I could be proud.

The links to posts on this very blog are half black lettering and half gray. The black ones are what you all can see, and the gray ones I see marked as "draft". Those gray posts are all half-written. The text fills half the space that it should and the ideas I tried to explain are left with only half understanding.

Nothing is ever finished or full as it should be. It is left waiting for the second half to finish it that will never come.

I feel that I too have become only half of a person.

Who

I'm drifting
Floating
Just a wisp of wind

Never sure
Always wondering
Forever confused

Lightly sleeping
Almost awake
Somewhere in between

Who am I, really?

Punishment

I suppose I was just punishing myself. I didn't truly realize it at the time, but everything I did was for that purpose alone.

I stopped letting myself do what I love, justifying it as making time for the things I needed to do. On the surface of my mind I thought that would solve my problems, but I was only being controlled by my emotions once again. Instead I was making myself miserable for the sole purpose of harming my already ragged self.

I refused to allow myself to be with the people I loved. I told them that I had to study. I told myself that I have depended on them more than necessary. But I really thought that I didn't deserve to be cared about, to be laughed with, to be loved. In the end it was all just self-hatred and self-punishment.

I realize now what a fool I was. I felt only distain towards myself, and so I harmed myself and worried others in my futile attempt to "fix" the problem. And still, I know it will happen again when I fall back into that spiral of self-hatred. Until then, I am who I was once more.

Greetings

Hello

I am

I don't want to be

Goodbye