I try to draw the line, but it ends up running down the middle of me most of the time.

There is an element of self loathing in me. I feel like I am speeding along a road at ninety miles an hour, except that I know there is a brick wall that is going to appear soon...

I am blessed beyond measure. I honestly have nothing to complain about. I have one amazing husband (just in case you were wondering if I had two), four beautiful and intelligent children, two precious dogs, a home to live in, food, water, clothes...

Why is it that when someone starts listing all of the good things that they have, you always know the "but" is going to come in eventually like an invited, name tagged, and place-carded character at a formal dinner?

Well here is my but, "you".

You are like a poison. You are constantly looking for more than what you currently have. You jump into these waves of self destructive actions. You know that you deserve nothing, that in fact what you have is ridiculously amazing and wonderful. You feel like you need to be punished. In fact, I know that you enjoy it. You crave suffering. You thrive on it.

And damn it why does your smile haunt me so? Why does your face come into my dreams and intrude on my thoughts? I don't want you here. I don't want to think about you, wonder about you, relate to you. I don't want to feel connected to you like a force that I can not contain. I don't want to write about you. I don't want to cry about you. I wish you would just go away. I wish it with a level of intensity that I don't even know how to control. I am helpless in your presence. I act differently. I become someone else. Do I love you? How do I even begin to discuss that word in regards to you? It is so menial, so tiny... And you will be like everyone else and pack up your stupid things and leave. And you'll be wrapped around my finger.

It really doesn't matter how angry I feel, or how much I cry. It really makes no difference if I say anything at all. I am helpless. I am utterly helpless. So I spend my days trying to make you laugh. I spend my lonely moments thinking about you. I pray and I pray and I pray and I pray. Yet for someone reason, it feels like God isn't listening when it comes to you. Maybe He just wants me to be uncomfortable. Maybe He wants me to hurt. Or maybe I do.

I feel so disgustingly ugly in ways I can't even verbalize. I have no ways or means of expressing the stupid emotions dog piling up in my girlish mind. I am often hidden underneath a canopy of armor that is so affluent in my life that I forget it's there. Who am I underneath it all? Why do I so desperately want you to peel back the layers? Why do I want you to expose them? Why do I want you to examine me, figure me out, and then put me on your shelf of all things contemplated, studied, pondered, categorized, and then fought for? Why do I want you to fight for me? Or is it that I want you to fight against me?

You are like a drug that I cannot get freedom from. Why is it that the truth is always revealed in the things not said? Why is it that you can say so many beautiful, eloquent words, but yet the words are not at all what you're saying? I only hear your meanings. I don't even know if I really know how to talk to you. I come across so bossy, so controlling and you come across as so freaking prideful. You know you're smart, and I suppose I know it too. I think I know it probably much more than anyone. Yet I find it so ironic that you have this constant, driving need to prove it to everyone around you. All they end up hearing is that you're an A hole, and all you end up feeling is frustrated and defeated. No body ever wins in your self protective society. You are the top dog and yet you randomly give me snippets of my ability to impact you. I love it. I love it so deeply that I crave it and I find myself hungry for more and more of them. That disgusts me.

I want to save you. I want to save you from yourself and protect you from the insanity that is your life and our life and this life. I want to be your hero. The fact that I can't is mind numbing, emotion boggling...like water rushing through fingers. There are only trace elements of what it is that I am capable of holding on to.

I want to know you more than I have the ability to. I want to sit and hear you talk for hours and hours...even though I know that the words you say are so irrelevant in the grand scheme of what you are conveying. I see you, perhaps better than you can see yourself. I think that you know that and it frightens you. I think that you know that and it intrigues you. I think that it makes you feel comfortable and uncomfortable at the same time. I think I am a problem that you want to know how to solve. Perhaps that is what has kept you around.

I know the time is coming when you will leave. And your impact here will become almost non existent. You will just be wrapped around my finger. It makes me so angry. I hate being helpless.

So tell me baby, who are the bad guys here? Is it me? Am I the enemy that you have been fighting all along? Where is the poetry in this moment? Have you really gotten everything that you ever wanted?