I keep telling myself just a few more months
Then I can plant some roots in the ground
And make up my mind with what I want
I repeat that over and over and over
But it fucking sucks and it’s hard anyway.
And it’s been a few months since I’ve had a real hug
One of those that make you just feel so secure
And I could use a damn hug.
And I could use homemade cookies
And a card that just says, “I’m thinking about you,”
From someone who fucking still cares.
And it’s hard to be in a place so humid
It feels like a towel’s been placed over your face
And it fucking sucks
To be so cautious of friendships because they’re temporary
And mostly not even real.
It’s not fun when you wake up three to 10 times a night
Because you’re hot or uncomfortable or your limbs hurt
Or just because of the stress.
I told myself I wouldn’t complain because it’s not worth it
But at the end of my day I’m just so done
And I want to scream and cry it all out because
There is just no other way to get it out
So I’ll complain just like everybody else
Because I can’t fucking take it anymore.
And this sucks.