I Am

I am made of oil and water; I am my longest companion. I am the sores on my feet. I am the storm, when it comes, And the one ultimately running from it. Sometimes I jump from a ledge, Then am confused as to why I fall . I am running from danger, But chasing after the feeling of freedom. That of a breath. I am at war; The bone and the flesh. And the idea that there is a place for both. Seems impossible at times. How is it to love parts of myself, And disregard others. To be proud of where I am, But knowing that I have disappointed her(younger self.) Those parts of me grow like a thorn at my side, But the roots are buried deep. Life pulsing from them to the inner corners of my soul. Seeking validation, But never in the right ways. Looking for my worth, In areas that don’t fulfill me. My bread made of dirt. My water, of sand. My soul left beaten, bruised and starved. Left dampened feeling as i've disappointed The only one who loves me and sees me where I am. Tells me im enough as bruised and as broken i might be The one who wishes only to embrace me in full. I hold at arm's length. Shame building barricades across my heart, Threading twine between already soft lips. A tongue of a blessing and a curse. How come it has only taught me to deceive, To hide, To isolate from the people who show the care and love I've always wanted to pursue. To lay limp when it should scream. When it should cry. Was it a design flaw? Or have I fallen and broken it myself? I'm sorry for the way that I am. The way that I love others so well It hurts them. And for the way that I care too much It pushes them away. I'm sorry that I am made up of Flesh and bone, Of oil and water.