5/1/17

i wish i could post here like i used to.
i was a much better writer when i was younger.

or perhaps i'm more familiar with brevity now.

"brevity is the soul of wit" is actually a low key jab at polonius
just before he actually does get jabbed

i wish a lot of things i guess
that there was someone who could take out my insides
and put them back not just the way before, but better, more complete
the give give give but no takers, eh, why would you

there are places deep inside me that i hate,
wishing you could excavate me to make it all hollow inside
and i'm mean, and i'm bitter, and i feel the scowl eating my stomach
the coffee i drink so i don't eat stains my teeth, my comeuppance

i daydream so much that i'm surprised i'm not asleep on my feet
an aspiring alcoholic with no desire to follow through on that folly
and in those dreams, my special wisp of smoke someone holds my face
and kisses me, or doesn't, breathes my air until i'm happy again

you're not real.  you'll be the death of me, my longing thrown to nothing
and the bar is low - please, just please don't hate me, and brush your teeth
am i miserable because i'm lonely, or am i lonely because i'm miserable
i don't know, but i'm not sure i care to find out either

3/14/17

there's a nor'easter raging outside.  it's just past 5am, and i have been awake for several hours.  after a streak of not drinking and not consuming caffeine, i'm back on the grind.  i'm going to stop starting today, i think.  it doesn't make me feel good.  i feel bloated, though i'm not sure if that's from guilt or from not taking care of myself.  my belly, the last frontier of my insecurities, still protrudes.  no one else notices but me, but i am paranoid that people are noticing.

i'm not supposed to use this space to write in any sort of coherent sense.  i've always written weird poems here.  but i guess this isn't a time like that.  i guess i'm not able to think so poetically anymore.  don't hide behind words, huh?  yeah, it's something like that.

i've always been a person who has been anxious about every little thing.  i remember even as a child i would pick one thing to knead and poke and prod and pour endless amounts of time into one single subject that wasn't really worth getting upset about.  it was some weird sort of release for me.  i could channel every ounce of negative energy i had into something that i thought was at least a little worthwhile.  then again, i've always found that punishing myself was a worthwhile activity.  i don't know why.  i need to stop that.

[i wrote this 2/23/16.  i think i'm gonna start writing in this stupid thing again.  it's been too long since i had some kind of anonymous outlet.]