irritated as I am enthralled

I wonder what a word cloud of my most commonly used phrases might contain. Reading even just a few passages I know it's of love. Ugh. Blasted L. Which however close or far always seems limiting. That women come to define themselves. By others. By bending. And many others do nothing of the sort. Make it their business to be distant. Too cool to be cuddly and cooing. The priority is work and the priority is surfing or being stuck. And the truth is, that's ok. It's ok as ok as ok. As I am here and you are there. The distance from here to there has often felt immense and expansive. Between me and so many, chasing affections and molding and morphing away from the Alex Mack that I am. I did something recently, I set a boundary and time for myself. If it causes displeasure and distance, well then. Oh well. Well. I did well. And I woke to find smiles. Growth is an odd thing, hard to gauge. But I recognize it most when reflecting in the moment in how I react. I never would have been this wise and collected before, I know that, I think. Like a cucumber, like a delicious fucking salad I consumed like mad just last night. I like doors and soft lights and plants and gushy eyes.

And am I the one who drags myself off the bottom of the sea, who's appalled at what I see? That ghost woman I came to be. It's my distance and degradation that draws some in, like a crash from which you cannot tear your glance away. Perhaps something to covet, no? But those damn gushy eyes, they get me nearly each and every damn time. As irritated as I am enthralled. Already prepped for a downfall at any moment, preparing to find things that can't be ignored. Red flags or orange flags and the green ones, all the same. Then what, then what. What to do with it, where to go and move. And sure going with that flow, going with it and with it and onward and away. The flow is the flow is the flow. Aches that once seemed to have all but dissipated reveal themselves present and to be accounted for. Listen, listen in. Listen some more. I don't like what you're telling me, but I listen, still. The cruelty and the beauty, wrapped tightly up in one. Learn to see it as more or less par. Jealously and insecurity and pondering and joys and those happy sad tears. All of those and them there. Opening up and reminding me that it's possible, it exists. I'm a resilient, brilliant motha. I am light.