You’ve got the best of both words; you’re the kind of girl that can take down a man and lift him back up again. You possess within you the power to launch a thousand ships; to make nations declare war on each other and make soldiers lay down their lives just at the mere hope of getting you back. You have it all…all that and a bag of cheese puffs.
Anybody looking at you would be instantly taken away. It is as though your presence has the remedy for every disorder. Canaries play a musical classic from the vibrations of your cords when you open your mouth and rainbows trace where your soles have trodden. I mean, I would follow you to the ends of the earth, jump off a cliff and drink molten petroleum jelly just at the possibility of sharing the same breathing space as you.
But you don’t see this. It kind of hurts when the kind of words you say turns themselves into blades that pierce deep into the heart. You are just the perfect contradiction. You are strong but are needy; you are humble but you’re greedy and based on your body language, silent curses I have been reading. Your style is quite selective though your mind is rather reckless. What a beautiful mess you are; like picking up trash in a summer dress.
Although you are biased, I love your advice. Your comebacks are quick and this probably has to do with your insecurities. You have wounds and scars that you have secured deep in your heart, away from the revealing light of day. They continue to cause you pain and anguish, more and more everyday, but you are hesitant to pull them out; fearing that it would be too painful and the sight be too ghastly. That and they may cause you to bleed out. So you hide yourself behind a pseudo identity; adjusting as it fits, so that no one will ever get to discover who you truly are lest they run off and abandon you. Yet you want to belong; you want to matter and for your presence to be significant and irreplaceable. You don’t want a car, a dog or worse, a video game to take your place. So you try all that will give you the affirmation that you crave for.
But I love you still; more with every quest of the moon across the night sky. For with every jealous rage and deafening scream, I still hold you close and stroke your hair when you are sad; with every knife throw and hot iron box inflicted wound, I still make you bread crumb coated chicken wings on Friday and pudding pie on Sunday because I know you love it. Staying with you may shorten my life via involuntary manslaughter but leaving you will end it via a broken heart. You are what gives my life significance and I would rather stay with you and die than leave and claw through my remaining days (which will probably be cut short by a needle)
For guess what? I am just as broken and messed up as you are, and I would rather be the Joker with you as my Harley Quinn than to be Bruce Wayne and want to jump out of a window, slitting my throat on the way down. You may be a mess, but you are my mess; my beautiful mess.