Checkmate

This is something like a love letter. This is probably something like a rant. This is too many words, brain-spillage. This is not poetry. This is not prose. I am sorry if that is what you were expecting today. I’m sorry if I am not what you were expecting today. I am not what you need. I am I. I am probably not what you were expecting today. I am single-drop hemoglobin in vast, ocean-endless veins. You are type-O carrying while I am AB-incompatible, toxic. I am I. I am I, inside of I. And I tend to lack the propensity required to carry on conversations. I tend to lack the emotional drive to lend myself to others more than just temporarily. I am I, internal-searching. I am I, inward-facing. This is expulsion. Evac/Recharge. Evac/Recharge. I am lack of responsibility for you. Do not leave your feelings in my hands. Do not expect me to hold water or sand. I am sieve. I am leaking. I am not fit for holding. I am vessel of me. I am awareness-raised yet surprise-unwarranted. When I say I am inconvenient. When I say I am unreliable. When I say I am lacking. I am dissociating. I am I. Please believe me.