A Self-Portrait

My name is Kaylie, and I cannot capture reality.
I capture only what I think.
I trust nobody.
Two years later and I still cry over my dead dad.
All. The fucking. Time.
I keep a wall up for nobody to penetrate.
Some people, however, make chips in it, and I hate to love them for it.
I've been left in a smorgasbord of ways.
Death. Betrayal. Emotional and physical distance.
Pure old people getting sick of my shit.
You name the poison, it's gone through my system.
Abuse. Insanity. Mania. Depression.
But I love the world.
God loves the world, and He loves me, so I don't have much of a choice.
I hate it, but I love the people,
as stupid as they are,
I love the way they laugh.
I feel everything.
Wind. Petals. Heartache.
I smell. I taste.
Oh, do I smell and taste.
And I sing.
I sing to purge everything in me out.
I sing to let everything outside of me in.
I sing to stay alive.
I don't really fall into love.
I fight it with everything I've got.
No, love falls into me.
WHAM. And I fall. Hard.
Catch me on a line and I'll take you, hook, line, and sinker.
Just remember that in that situation, the hook can't be detached.
The fish bleeds.
I'm still waiting for that one kind of love that I would kill for.
The kind that promises not to leave.
I pray for it every night.
I don't care from where it comes.
In the meantime,
I have a wonderful boyfriend
and what I would call the best friends in the world,
as well as so many random, laughing strangers
and songwriters
and trees
and chocolate eclairs.
What can I do besides love?