If Distance Could Mend

The raging force has seemed to return. 
shaped by fingers and false words. 
I’m running at a stand still, and yet
every face I see has me wanting to retract myself even more. 
It’s outrageously sad to think that distance could mend what breaks me. 
Sometimes there is fire beneath my tongue. 
And sometimes it leaves me feeling as if I’m rotting from the inside out.
I can’t control how this consumes me. 
It just does. 
I’m tired of fighting to pretend to be something I’m not. 
Trying to grasp whatever time I can get with people who care more about everyone else is hard to swallow.
Because for me the love I have for people, outweighs who they are or where they’re from. Who they’ve been with and who they haven’t.
But I guess that’s what makes me different from everyone else.
I’m pathetically bound to this place.
This frightening daily effort of trying to love everyone equally. 
Trying to show people this, in hopes they will return the love.
But I never feel it. 
I just…..
I want to feel loved, appreciated, and seen. 
Not ignored and used. 
Not broken and defenseless, and backed into a room. 
I haven’t cried in a long time. 
Maybe tonight’s the night. 
Everyone has someone, 
But right now, I don’t even have myself. 
Have you ever tried to hold your own hand?
It’s like waiting for low tide to reach the boardwalk; 
An emptiness that won’t wash away.