Paper Heart on a Sleeve

Every time I get to a point where I am supposed to pull over, count the coins in my pocket, clean off my dusty sunglasses and say "Wow, all of this is mine? It all belongs to me? The sun and clouds and birds and even the distant mountain peaks -- I get it all??"; I can't bring myself to gush. I get overwhelmed when I look back at the dusty road with a single set of tire tracks and circling vultures and glaring haze and skimpering tumbleweed and a crooked rusty sign designating what used to be a gas station and i can only say "This is all that's mine? After all these years of labour and toil, and hours behind the wheel and gas money -- this is all I"ve managed to gather?"
I am one of the few left who is trying to build an empire. What I've gotten so far is not bad, but it will never be enough. The sun never sets on all that I've acquired, but why can't I seem to find the land where it never rains and is always green?
Dear God, I've wandered long enough and I found the Way all by myself. I've paid for my sin and the ones I've caused. Now, will you PLEASE just let me back in? I'm cold- I miss the beautiful naive days of nudity and purity. Please God, let me come home. Love, Eve
But my name has been distorted and my eyes are swollen shut and I'll never even be able to find the gates to Hell again, much less Eden.
I wanna know why I am unable to settle. It seems as though I"ve been able to dispense of every single piece of advice ever given to me by both myself and others -- except the one that I least needed to hear : "Don't accept and NEVER settle for less than the best." What the fuck?! There *is* no best, just a rough approximation based on a derived formula calculted with archaic tools of measurement. The pictures I drew in my head of what "The Best" should be were developed at a time when I was still too young to understand what kind of wild goose chase I was setting myself up for. Why can't I fucking take it back; or at least scrap those blue prints and try again on a fresh piece of paper? "There's more bad blood in this bar than there is beer...and it sucks and I want out of here." -Egos Like Hairdos Why why why why WHY do I have to blame the riotous uprisings in my belly on the uneducated villagers? Why am i forced to take myself with a grain of salt just cuz I'm too bitter to be swallowed alone? I'm NOT a fucking pizza and I stopped trying and I"m sorry if I hurt your feelings but I bet it's cuz you've hurt mine and I know I take things too seriously but it's only cuz no one takes me seriously enough and I JUST WANT TO BE ENRAGED WITHOUT EVERYONE THINKING I'M FULL OF RAGE and I want to hear the people that love me scream and tell me while they still have time instead of taking me for granted until I'm just another Thanksgiving Day tragedy.
Is it really so much to ask that the person I share my most intimate times with be willing--volunteering to tell me I'm beautiful? Why is a compliment so hard to give? I'm learning every day to suspect them less -- and I guess that has something -- everything-- to do with the fact taht I"m recieving them less. Am I becoming used to it -- callous as I've been told -- and therefore people just don't bother? Or are they just getting used to me -- underappreciated so I tell myself -- and finding less to comment on? I want to feel as perfect as I do when I'm alone even when others are around. I don't want to take for granted the things that I truly desire and maybe even need. And I don't EVER want people to think that because they feel they can see through me that they know what I want and am and feel. You don't even know the real me.