I found a teddy on the ground
Ragged, tattered and torn,
One eye missing,
Stuffing strewn across the ground
Muddy and dirty
In need of love
I picked him up, gingerly
Gathered his innards best as I could
Examined his rips and his wounds
Then took him home
To tend his soul
I had his tears sewn
Fixed back his eye
Cleaned him up
And dried him out.
Brushed his coat
Then set him down
Set him down lovingly
I am the teddy
Fixing myself up
Showing myself love
This is me. The gentleman on the surface, with a surging mess underneath. I act like i have it all together, smile, nod, bow, hold the door. Perfect. I am a little too selfless when I know I can help. Some people say I am too soft, too kind, too… agreeable. Yes that was the term used, too agreeable.
Then there is the other me, playful, silly. Unable to keep a straight face, or head when situations need it. Those who know this side tolerate it I believe. I am very uncertain of how many genuinely enjoy it. He is lively and eager to help too. Used to like poking people in the arm, before I learned it was misunderstood. The partial mess that few get too see.
Beneath that, there is a third me. The absolute mess. Depressed, addicted, broken, lost. Afraid of real connection because I am waiting for the bottom to fall out. This me that is lurking in the shadows, leaping and clawing at me. This me I need to keep private or my vinear will crumble.
Then there's the emotional me. Then one that want to love but can't. I want to hold one, but if I do, I will hold on for dear life (Nobody wants that). I want to pour out my heart, but it been damaged too many times before. Damaged by myself and others. So I hold it in and hope it fades.
I write this because my "mes" are clashing. Rolling into each other and fumbling. I opened up, and my heart won't stay out of it. Perhaps it's just my brokenness. Maybe it's my need to hold on. I am certain it won't go anywhere, but part of me wants it to. If only I could think with my brain and not my heart.
This is me, an onion. Layers upon layers. Stinging and strong. I am struggling, trying to hold on to the little progress I have made. I wonder if this anxiety worth it. Will she understand it, or will she think I clingy, if I show any more layers. My heart is aching, I am in a panic I hope I am hiding well.
Like an onion, I am layered. I understand some, I am afraid of the emptiness inside. But I am certain, no one will understand.
