Some of us are politicians.
I am a politician. Not running for anything more than your approval. Its a weird and funny race being such a love-aholic. You keep trying to gain new fans and new adoration because some of that validation feels good.
But in the loneliness of enigma-ticism, in the oddness of my neediness confessions and admissions, I see that other people loving me is nice but not everything.
I kind of need to love me more. More than you ever could. More than she ever could...even more than Mom ever could.
I am not afraid of being myself but it costs me so much I think.
I have confidence in my capability to be a world wind of euphoric bliss, physically and emotionally. Because it feels good to feel good. Inside and out.
But this world I have created full of art, passion, divine meetings and idealistic experiences, is confronted by independence to the point that I stand alone...A LOT. Its confronted with its need to find authenticity in more than time and words...
And although being alone is not the end of the world,
Giving up friendships for the sake of having things done my way,
Being singled out as the lone wolf or the lost sheep or the solo dolo mistress of affairs,
I would always rather be me than someone else.
Love driven, insane, political mess of madness.
If I must go crazy, I would rather go nuts by my own design losing moment to moment with the tapestry of an undying musical string quartet. Dying to live...in hearts rather than in the world of confused mice, lords and everything in between.
Judge me.
But I am coming undone while smiling.
40 days and 40 nights...
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