I hurt all the people I want to love. I reach out to touch them and cut them instead of holding them. Edward Scissorhands. When the only tools you have are hammers, everything is a nail. It’s hard to hold someone with tender care when the scars of abandonment, abuse and alienation are fresh and multiplying.

I know they promised you the world, and the hurt of false promises carve deep holes into your heart and mind and soul.

I know I’m broken in all the tender areas I want to love with, and all of my busted seams can’t be welded back together again. Sometimes I reach out, and up, and outwards, only to feel the cold, razor winds of indifference against my infantile skin. I retreat back into my warm, comfortable persona and push everyone – off of balconies and ledges –  away from me. Sometimes I feel the savage cuts of knives when I reach out, the mockery, betrayal and failure coming home to roost. Sometimes I feel nothing.