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The way you tell me I’m pretty when I smile- makes me want to smile again. And the way you seem to look right through me sometimes, like you can see every corner of my essence…and then the way you sort of smirk, it makes me think that you actually can
The energy that lives in symphony with the ease that is simply ‘US’ makes me feel like my heart knows you’re some part of my home. You are like the room that I can go to and cry, all curled up in a ball, when life gets to be too much. Or the room that hears me when I laugh so hard my sides hurt and I can’t speak. The room that knows how many times I’ve laid awake at night and wondered why no one knows how to love me. You are this room that knows me inside and out and has been there without question since I first stepped foot inside. This room has seen my fantasies played out in my mind, and knows the way my body flushes with heat in response. The way I long to be touched in ways that make my back arch and my breath catch in my throat… then there are days that your room has seen me give every last ounce of me to someone else, and has been there to hold me as I slept.
I’ve sat down in defeat and anguish, and nothingness on your floor, and been a shell of myself trying to keep it together. I’ve thrown color on my face so that I don’t feel so transparent, hoping you don’t
notice. But you do. You always do. I’ve spent hours outside your walls and longed to be nestled back
inside. This room is home.

For when I am inside, I know that I am safe - really truly safe, and that if I did get hurt, it was not
because you meant to. I know that I am good enough, and maybe even more than enough sometimes. I know that when you stand as my shelter, that I will be heard, I will be seen, and I will be loved. Not the kind of love that comes with an IOU, but the kind that exists because there is not any other way to
possibly exist with this person. The kind that means “I am here, always” without question, or debts! The love just exists because I deserve it, and somehow! through some sort of magic, I don’t even question it. I don’t ask “but why?”, or say “I’m not that special”. These words have left my lips so many times before. I don’t even try to downplay these things as I lean against your walls. Instead I just feel you behind me, supporting me, loving me, and I let my guard down and I close my eyes so I can breathe you in. I thank God that he put you in my path, because as they say- “there’s no place like home”.

I'm not for everybody.

I don’t understand you yet. On one hand we have such a good time together, but on the other hand you say things that just turn me off. And I don’t know if you mean things the way you say them, or not because there are these sky high walls up that I don’t stand a chance of climbing. Some times I don’t think I want to. I’ll Just let you go when you’re done here. Because without knowing me, or my trauma, my past, or my triggers you have made remarks about my weight, my housekeeping or perceived lack thereof, my laundry habits and then my driving.

What you don’t know anything about is what my life looks like when I wake up at 6 am. When I get out of bed and immediately have a house to take care of, dogs to feed, kids to feed, kids to get to school, and then maybe- just maybe! I might get out of the house without forgetting what I need (Just for the record, that rarely happens) on my way to a full time job that needs me there at 8. My life isn’t clean and organized and its not working out after work or cleaning part of the house every night when I get home. What you don’t know anything about is that I spend a stupid amount of time stressing over being a good mom and giving my kids a clean house, with a full fridge and clean clothes and fewer dogs. I want them to know how hard I try for them, but I am always so tired.

Maybe my life looks like a dining room table covered with toys and mail because that’s the heart of the house. It looks like a sink load of dishes because I care more about how my boys did that day. It’s crooked couch cushions because you can’t play “The floor is Lava” without knocking things over a little bit and throwing things on the floor. Its the endless parade of laundry baskets that work as dressers because after being gone 11 hours a day, and then making dinner, feeding the dogs and actually washing the clothes, I am to damn tired and sore after 15 hours to do anything else. And it doesn’t matter in the long run anyway. It’s a subtle dusting of dog hair in some spots because at some point we opened ourselves to loving these creatures that changed our lives. That doesn’t mean that my sheets are dirty, or they smell. I don’t remember what scent the laundry soap is, but I know its not ‘Eau De Canine’. I’ve heard some hurtful things before but between the weight of carrying a house, 2 kids, a full time job, car problems, money shortages, lack of sleep, constant and increasing physical pain, and maybe 30 minutes to myself a week I just don’t have it in me to clean the carpets every week, lose 40 pounds, take up a physical hobby that hurts me even more at the end of the day. I just don’t have it in me, literally/ physically/ emotionally/ financially.

My life is more love and less organized. It’s the sound of singing and dancing around the kitchen one night and yelling at each other the next night. Its laughing and tickling and bedtime routines and the near nightly debate on whether I want to go to bed because I’m asleep on my feet or do I want to watch 20 minutes of something? Its forgetting to take the pill that makes me feel better because I’ve been running all over for everyone else since I got home. Or trying to remember if I ate today. Its crying from frustration and exhaustion for no reason at all. Maybe I just have to pee, but I’m so fucking tired that when I get up my whole body feels like it’s made of lead.

I’m not for everybody. And I like it that way. I guess what I’m saying is that you can take me or leave me, but don’t take me and then try to change me. You don’t know how hard I’ve fought to get here.