i've learned not to say much.

when I dissolve in a crowd, it's just so I can feel alive some of the time.

eyes are closed, with the orange spot I never noticed until he took a picture of it

somewhere between Helsinki and Halifax, between Caerau and Donegal

and I drew a line in chalk from Trafalgar Square to the edges of Drury Lane,

where flowers grow in pots, overflowing, pink tendrils in my peripherals

my too-worn saddle shoes feeling all the rounded edges of brick roads,

made when the city was a fussy child, unyielding clay, consumed by fire often

these soles were not meant to walk the streets, when I am delirious from hunger

I cannot speak because of lockjaw, self-imposed, cunning but that's a given

so I let words love those I long to inform myself, never just the one

I want to write everyday, with chalk, with a keyboard, with pens stolen

I imagine you softening at the edges when you drink, glasses finally off

something pools inside me as I leave a suburban home and arrive in Antarctica

cracks in saddle shoes allowing snow to seep in, like a hard up for cash friend

and I am finally allowed to be quiet, to not say much, sound dampened anyway

so I find a street, and I walk, playing tic tac toe on glaciers, eyes closed

excerpt from something.

She stands in the doorway, amongst the rubble left by the rush of hipsters avoiding the cops. Dropping a deuce in the bathroom, I had avoided the sirens and masses of people leaving. The house is empty and smells like swiped V-cards and piss. I help myself to a jello shot and don't even notice her until I hear a kind of grunt.

I steal a second one and look up at her. She's about twice as drunk as I am. Deerhunter hat, white tank top I can see her nipples in, blue panties, bear claw slippers. She's drinking four dollar wine from the bottle. She looks at me. I look at her. We stare at each other for what's gotta be five solid minutes before she speaks.

"Party's over," she says.

"Guess so," I say. Silence.

"You know you have to leave, right?" she says, taking another gulp.

I take another jello shot.

"Look, I don't give a fuck if you go home or not. Hell, I don't care if you crash here. But my roommate is gonna raise hell if she finds some floater on the floor tomorrow," she says in one breath.

Silence.

"'Kay," I say, taking another shot for good measure. I try to go for the front door. She holds her hand up.

"Back door. What are you, a freshman?" she says, pointing.

I salute her and go into the night.

what happened was

yesterday you cut me out of your life

and I know that I deserved it, gave or took it like the statue I am
the impression of you gripping my soft spots captured for
fanny-packed tourists to gawk at before the call of an empty stomach

as I walked the streets, hungry and alone (not uncommon)
I came across the cracks in the sidewalk blooming weeds like
they were jewels -- I picked up the last wishflower of the summer

though highline and into the village I carried it with me

feeling asphalt seep through my sandals

and that's when I knew

your hands haven't learned much yet.

that crippling sensation that comes with knowing that you are wrong in every sense of the word

I can't breathe without the thought of failing creeping into my bones

and on and on I go, despite this wrongness

isn't it good to be alive, she said, and I agreed

king and queen seat.

the acute hurt of not knowing suffocates

because I always need to know, need the clench of control

baby boys in big boy clothes, running around, followed clouds of smoke and punctured with septum rings ill suited for their ski slope noses

you're all bones and I worry about you only sometimes, peripheral exclusive, only circumstantial thinking really

it reminds me of when my mother tried to kill herself when I was nine

and they locked her up with women who called me rosemary and touched my hair

old man swore in six languages but could not negotiate day and night

I never knew what motivated her to hate herself so, when she was everything I wanted to be

bone thin, ill and still graceful, hollow cheeks and wise eyes so tired of the world, like I was, too young for it

let's throw the pity party, hmm, dunce caps and creamsicle cocktails, the closest thing to dairy I'll touch nowadays

yes, I became a vegan to lose weight and it worked, didn't it? am I beautiful now, mother, father, classmates who skirted around my prom invitations?

it's a foolish thing to dwell when I have grown past the confines of my clay pot, tropical and unruly

mother with her obvious femaleness, father with his sturdy maleness, bore a child somewhere in between

I'm sure every woman feels the echo and/or imprint of maya angelou in ears and on skin, even if they've grown tired of a preacher to the choir

yes, yes, you are a woman, as are they, though I'm not sure I will ever know what that feels like

what about audre lorde I wonder, this androgynous creature of intimate words referencing the curves of others similar to herself, years ahead of her time

and I hope you can understand why I worry about you and your idle thoughts as you ride your bike past my house at three in the morning

you are a vast unknown, the type that frightens and intrigues, a comfort somehow

a man in too plain clothes and not a mark or distinguishing alteration on his body

you were never bones, and I like that. I like it. I don't have to worry, or feel the weight of my own empathy on my back like the pressure to be a woman.

in some ways, it's a surprise

that I've grown accustomed to your rhythm, your edge
and I feel the thrum of my jealousy at the sight of draped bodies
how and what I want don't always intersect
this is no exception, when your smile makes me crazy
but I'm hesitant to even turn your way

am I crazy? likely.

send you my love on a wire.

what do you want from me?
it isn't as though this shit ends.
we are circular and ultimately directionless as we try to fathom a future without hatred
but it's always there
it's always going to be there
and you can't keep denying it, or we'll get nothing accomplished
as tides wash in
and fears wash out, leaving indifferent residue.

novel excerpt.

"Sometimes I want to punch him, but sometimes I want to kiss him too, and the kissing outweighs the punching in the end, you know?" Ingrid sighed.

"Yeah," Christopher said, even though he didn't.

"It was absurd how angry I was -- I didn't even think I was capable of it," she went on, laughing lightly.  "He just took off, vanished, you know?  I didn't know he was working for the Administration until it was too late to talk him out of it.  And I couldn't stop him, because I'm just a halfie and he's a fucking deerkint, for god's sake, do you know how powerful they are?  Ugh, it was terrible.  And I put poor Tallulah through such torture because all I did was roll up the windows and talk about how much I hated everything and how much I wasn't going to cry because fuck crying.  She kept on making all these pitiful noises, so one day I just gave her a break and pulled over on the side of the road and screamed."

"Yelling helps," Christopher agreed.  He missed the woods around his house for that reason.

"My life was getting worse by the day.  I mean, my fiance abandoned me.  My mother was -- is -- dying from something awful and unknown and the relatives that were supposed to help me are either dead or of no service.  And here I was, just screaming in a field more because of the guy than my own mother, who went through hell from the magic community because she loves my dad... sometimes I don't even feel like a Foundra."

Christopher hesitated before putting a hand on her arm.  "You're really strong for going through all that," he started, then everything tumbled out.  "You're one of the more brave people I've met, and you have so many good qualities, so put away the bat.  No one can be everything at once.  We all have limits before we snap.  Sometimes, it's good to snap." 

Ingrid stared at him for a moment before her face broke into a grin.  "You're a great kid, Chrissy," she said, ruffling his hair.

"Thanks, ma," he replied.  So he was a kid now.  Great.

"No, you know what I mean," Ingrid insisted.  He didn't.  "You're gonna make someone really happy one day, babe.  I just know it."  

A moment passed, a fraction of time in which something significant should have happened.  Had his life been a film, he would have brushed the stray bit of hair from her face and tucked it behind her ear.  She would have blinked at him with those dark, endless eyes of hers, whispering something to herself in that tongue that she would have to teach him later.  They would lean in at once, two sets of eyes fluttering shut as two sets of lips met in an instant of accord.  His hand would rest on her cheek.  Her hand would settle on his knee.  Music would swell in the background, the theme of the film or some soaring indie epic -- or maybe there would be the silence that happened when everything else in the world went still but them in that moment.  But his life was not a film.  There was no director, no script, and no chance to do it over as she got up and brushed any dirt and debris off her rear.

"I'm going to check on him -- I'll see you later, yeah?" she said, smiling in that way that made his heart stutter, if that were even possible.

"Yeah, see you," was all that he could come up with.  She paused before giving a little wave and turning around. 

Christopher bit his tightened fist to keep from crying out in frustration.  The Darbys of the world once again got the upper hand, and all he could do was watch as she walked away.

whoa oh, I want some more.

my heart swells in so many places it hurts to breathe sometimes

but I remember in certain sweaters I look the best and all is well in a land of snow.

I didn't get what I wanted, and it's fine, oh it's fine.

maybe some other time.

story morning glory.

"Don't go chasing dreams, kid," he said to me, as my skin stuck to his leather seats.

When all the smart kids moved north for the winter, all the cokeheads stayed in Hollywood. It was a good night, I guess. I wore the same jeans over and over again, rough against my skin, and I fell into quarter beats as the men on city streets asked me pointless questions.

And will you ever grow old? I don't know.

And will you ride headlong into the desert sky? I don't know.

And will you ever tell us his name, the one you write about in every song? That's no for sure.

It all rested in ragtag blues. They stitched wings into breakable girls as women trailed me like clockwork. Tick, tock, they all fell in love but no one really meant it. It was all for that last bit of white before lights out.

"But they look so good on me," I said to him, as his glance gave me the up-down in my peripherals.

Silver was my favorite non-color to wear. It made me look more serious than the articles painted -- this painted woman-child with bangles for common sense. I giggled and denied marriage, noting tasteful shoes and dismissing showboats in polyester. I was silver like the moon, a supporting hue in the cast of purist to wise. And he was merely charcoal grey, almost there but never quite good enough.

Different women want to be me but few can compare.

Different men want to be me but few can compare.

I am neither, I am both, but who is there to compare?

Present past spoken in future tense, but what else do I know if I'm not drunk with some sort of expensive alcohol someone else bought me? I asked myself these convoluted questions night after night, longing for the chafe of stubble on my cheeks and met with silky smooth aftershave from the baby boys who ran around in big tough guy clothes. Yeah, real tough guy now.

"Suspicion got me this scar," you said, pointing at your jaw, the place that made me ache something awful, for that mouth of yours between my legs doing something, for fuck's sake.

We drove along and alone, the throb of want everlasting as you dragged out my torture with seeming bliss, just with a turn and a smile every once in a while.  and even when desert became ice, when texas became rome, when all the words melted in my pocket with the accuracy of throwing darts, I knew somehow this would be the only time in my life that I would be truly happy.  

something more.

three years and I'm back to where I was

terminal port and sloppy sustenance

who ever knew my fingers would glide against worn keys

it's been so long since I've been myself.

it shows, and it shows, and it shows

isn't it funny how I waste my time searching for something more?

and rediscovering my older tricks haven't worked and there's no cure

trying so hard to bypass time, ignoring the fact that I must die

maybe there's nothing left for me to find

unfocused.

we're in this place now, where i can't compartmentalize in the way that i used to.
you were the unrequited duo, one spelling out her longings while the other made cryptic allusions.  and i bought it.  we all buy it, you know, or at least i hope the both of you know.  i don't know if i ever will.  
now she wants people and specific people and forgive me my dear i'm sure you'll understand but that's really really difficult for me to wrap my head around.  am i coming in clear?

and it's not selfishness.  after her, i can't like another girl again.  it hurts too fucking much.  it's just bizarre.  give me time, i guess.  just time enough to think it over.  i cried that night for the letting go of everything i'd been holding onto.  it was great.  but now i'm stuck in the ether and what the fuck is it going to bring?  i don't know and that terrifies me.

and you go about.

you live your life. I live mine.

Yet somehow there's still this gaping hole feeling in my gut

and I find it hard to breathe without tears.

can't a girl joke back, however wrong the term is?

you really do take things seriously, the density of weighted words.

I don't know what to do with you.

I don't know what to do with myself on days like this.

all I really want is to run and scream until I spit blood.

because that's all I am, all the time, just bursting with feelings

so many things to say and so much emotion to spare.

if you want some, you can have it.  open here, take as you need, just leave enough so I can tell my mother I love her and mean it.  

itching fingers.

I want to write.
I want to write.
but something always holds me back
perhaps I don't have the curve of your neck memorized perfectly...

it's always something like that.

I need my obsession for my creation. I need the knowledge I really shouldn't have.isn't it funny how we have all these tools at our disposal? and we feel an expansion of lungs.

I don't need love.  It's a waste of my time.
But I'm jealous of those who can throw down and hook up
Not waste their time daydreaming of dogs and houses and tree lined streets.

Antithesis.  Clothes slipped on just to be tossed off.
Too sheer, doesn't cling to the figure enough
Yet you are who you are and I am jealous of this.

I am more lines than I ever knew possible, and at the time I could never want them.

"I love you and everything is beautiful."

[It hasn't been this bad since her.]

scruff. it's funny how much I like it.
you should shave, really, because it's homely
but come to think of it, it's so... you
I could wrestle with self doubt and say hello, how are you, how was your weekend
but my tongue forever exists in knots
and I feel the dryness in my throat before I can even get the words out
so I stop. because you're perfect. and I can't deny that.

okay, so no one is perfect. I lied in that respect.
but I'm torn between assumptions and resignations.
would you be interested? do you stare at younger men with longing?
it gets me hot under the collar and cold in my stomach, jealous and pleased.
I always get like this, reduced to this, because of my self doubt.
and you are none the wiser, self regarded oblivion as I hang on your every mistake

bitch, show me your body.

I still feel your face, against hands that have
never graced you. you burn
patterns in my cheeks, my twisted spine and
shirt collar white, contrasted with black
and I don't know you. and I don't know
you, with shadow tickling my palms and
feeling smoke fill my lungs, imaginary
seeing your static and unkempt, stupid stupid hair
(jesus christ do you ever wash it but that's cute)
(seriousness in clover and dust smoke, bicycles and
bags from other bags, from jeans frayed and torn with
same shirts with holes but I've grown to smile)

asides aside, you were never one to question but
how would I know that I just
assume, assume and remove myself from situations
imaginary, brutal, intensity soft and slow like piano keys
against my callused fingers, out of practice out of line
barre chords and nylon instead, uselessness
and kitsch, I'm eclipsing, something I despised but
would you like that. you wouldn't I guess, you
wouldn't. I guess. I don't know you. I don't
know you. imaginary, acerbic with shining dark
eyes, turbulent ocean and icy sky clash for fleeting moments
you ask me to repeat things and I comply, wanting you to
be satisfied with stripes. jeans with frays and tears, same
shirts, black with white.

blank.

filling in spaces, but of course.

i want.

something to make sense.

to not feel tension gripping at my throat, squeezing and slipping, kneading me.

to say hello.

to not feel like a fool, like I'm fat, like I don't deserve anything.

red.

I study your worry lines in peripherals
and try not to think about the times I've wanted your hands on me.
I feel as though it's been years, years and years
yet seconds since you last looked into my eyes.
jumping to conclusions just so you can find my glance.

our fingertips touched and there were no sparks
no quickened heartbeats, just a pressure from both ends.
it wasn't just me. I know it wasn't just me.

I feel so raw whenever you move the slightest inch
yet I'm not sure if I want to know you
because I understand I'll just be disappointed.

sinking feeling.

but no, no it's not that

i'm just lonely is all

and that's okay.

honestly, I'm only broken wings and cockle shells.

what I miss.

my ability to observe and act.

my tact and sense of timing.

a two step toward you.

goals.

not wanting anyone this bad.

where did all the chastity go?

strangely strange.

I'm bested by the pretty girl everyfuckingtime and while I say, yeah yeah it doesn't hurt, of course it's going to.  but I've gotta wear that smile because she deserves a nice boy.  she's my sister and I love her to no no no end.  and there are some things that aren't for me, but hell do I want them.

something one day will be reciprocal.  I just think I'll be alone for the rest of my life.  it's fine.  I'm just in the downness stage, yeah, but is there an up?  really now?  I don't know.  I fucking hate cycling, I fucking hate them.

ah well.  changing moods midstream.  college today.  couldn't be happier about that! :D

well yes but there's also that

one day I know I won't fault myself for loving you once

I feigned distance but now there is the real kind, distance from my emotions, and I can remember them fondly, letting go, throwing my head and hair back as I swung back and forth, back and forth, up and down, sun contorting my face into boys that weren't me and faces I hadn't even known yet

I think fondly and want that freedom back, that stupid reckless love
and now I talk to you like I don't know you even though I have for years and years now
I'm shut off from talking about it, I've talked enough but to myself I can talk about it always always never

it's an ache, all at once dull in my chest and sharp in my face, my eyes, my throat. I am too tired for all of this really. my wrists burn from wires and static heat. and I'd like to not feel like this, to not be in my head thinking and growing old with fear and feebleness, blooming in me like a cancer. do you even know me? do you even measure the distance with squinted eyes and pinched nerves, steady hands and a tilt of your head? no, no, I don't think so.

refreshed and refreshed and refreshed till I'm cramped, so solid, you're solid and I fell too hard too fast, never ever again do I want this at all, no never no never never

I don't feel right in these sheets, in this chair, in this skin until there's no fat at all. I don't care if I kill myself. I don't care, I don't. It's okay because I will finally be perfect, and everything you never wanted in a girl. I am doing this because I can. There is no other choice than to trust me. feel it in you to trust me love just this once now. and how now. I'll never say my love aloud.

null

but of course

yeah, I'm scared, what's it to you

i woke up from a dream involving him. i was at a restaurant with him and we were talking. i told him how i've been feeling lately, my identity crisis and all. we were in this dome like structure. he misinterpreted my words into a want for sexual contact with him, so the dome spun around. He started having sex with me and I kept giving him these half-assed nos, hoping he would get the point. it cut to me on a train. the train had no destination. i was the only passenger besides a homeless man sleeping in the corner of his seat.  

i don't know what it means but i just don't want it to ever happen.  at least not like that. 

another night without much sleep

i still think of you sometimes
but i'm not sure if it's in that way
would you want it? i don't know.

words hurt, they sting like nothing else, but I eventually have to let go. and it's getting easier certainly. there are still hurdles that i'm avoiding. am i giving it a go? i know others aren't. i get angry because you fell for the wrong fucking person. i don't want to be angry at you. i want this to be over.

who am i kidding, i'm a terrible selfish person, possessive, needy, almost always nauseous.

i need to occupy myself with something, but i must wait till it all ends, till this hour is up before i can even do a single thing. i'm lonely but it's fine. i just feel like i'm being punished for honesty. it's cool (but not really).

someday I'll appreciate sunlight.

do you see me? do you see what I've become? a shell of my former self (if I even had one)

last night my breathing was quick and unsteady as I felt every bit of paranoia sink in. I thought about cutting myself on my lower back until I was eased into sleep. the fact that I get comfort from the idea of bringing myself pain is... interesting to say the least. I'm not sure if I'm scared or frustrated. I thought of my boy, my bright eyed country boy and smiled. we'll lay in the grass together. maybe there will be sex, maybe there will be just be us together, existing. whatever the case may be I welcome it.

I'm changing. I'm back on my medication. I need consistency. It will be difficult. I can do this and get through it.

and the poetry may be gone, yes, but it'll return. I can't be coherent for more than an hour at a time.

thoughts on a sleepless night.

once upon a time I wanted things I couldn't have
and once upon once upon everything there was something
I recall days were spent dreaming away circumstance
and there's always this tune in my head, I mimic yours

I'm all over, I'm not over you, with everyone expecting me to
be someone I'm not, be the rhythm that carries you through
I'm sick of promises not kept and words unsaid, of comfort zones
and you wishing that I was her while I'm here on my own

throw me something I can comprehend, anything you send my way
I'm sure I can decipher, you're my last thread to a normal world
where my ears don't ring and my heart doesn't sink every time
they look past me to check for someone else

all that's left is me waiting by the telephone, I'm out and about
strung out on words that could be said as I listen to chatter-laughter
for those ten minutes I feel like I'm home until you have to go
and there's no way I'm hearing back from you again till I remind you

that I still exist
that I'm still yours
that we made an agreement
that I'm a different person

I know what you are to me but what have I ever been to you?
there's no such thing as both ways and I can fight all by myself
as tides change and cars rush by, I want to belong to you
and have you be my very own to look after at least for a while

but you belong to a girl long gone, your well wishes replaced
with harsh orders and gunshots, with boots and never knowing the time
will you go with what she says, although she wishes to wake up alone
halfway across the world, where you have never been and may never go?

I wish you could stay with me and feel my constancy, my soft words
though our love is young, I know we can make it through the distance
in miles, in time, in your voice, in your eyes when you look past me
like so many other people have done before you and some will do after

enough with my pretention.

but then again, I love it.

I love being cryptic and I don't think I'd be able to let that aspect of myself go.

I love you and I always will. This is a fact I cannot separate myself from. Your hair, your eyes, your imperfections. I still have the curve of your nose memorized. I know your number. I know your mother's turning fifty this year. I know your cats' names and appearances. I know what your room smells like. You inspire me like no other and I don't know why but I'm going to use it.

use it, use it, always abuse it.

let her go.

just let it and her go

I want to but I'm naturally selfish, you know that.

avoiding it at all costs, and I really don't want to go. I'll agree with whatever you say.

know that you brought this all onto yourself.

my brain is mush except for song lyrics, I suppose. I was spooked by my own reflection in a glass door earlier (maybe my brain is breaking down into a base creature -- I hope so). I feel songs filling my soul and rushing through me like broken wings and I want to cry, I really do. I cried myself to sleep last night for the first time in an extremely time and I felt like such a child, so low and small. my hair frames my face and almost clings to it. I feel older than I want to but younger than I ever have. Funny how that works out.

the blackening, original, frazzled intensity that bores holes in me.

oh man, was that just cute (the title, subject line, whatever you call that bullshit I just wrote)

my life is filled with rejection and unrequited little things, I suppose.  I'm a sigher but not a buyer, a stewer but never a doer (until now and what exactly has that gotten me?)  gearing myself up for endless rejection sucks, but I guess it's what I'm going to have to do.  put that armor on and try not to think about her eyes as you barrel through crowds and run without ever thinking.  I think about blood letting as an artform and that scares me.  I imagine diagonal cuts and blood pooling in my backward cupped hands, trailing and splattering as I flex my wrists.  I imagine a kid with bones poking out of zher/zir skin, and when I realize that person is me, I smile.  It's awful but I want to be thin so much.  my problems won't go away, but I at least will have my A-cups back and my gaunt jaw.  I want to be damaged.  

I want her to take care of me and want me but that's never gonna happen, is it? 

but can't you see

you have EVERYTHING in the world.

and yet you want more, you want things to be perfect.  you have a man who wants to wed you in june beneath trees with your bare feet and his bristly beard and you have the girl who has stolen many hearts with her deft hands and cloudy eyes.  I love her and you love her but I will step aside because she loves you so much more, a fierce cutting blinding love that would slice through the deftest of bones and skin.  When I held her and she let her guard down, it was a private victory for me.  crying yourself to sleep is outdated, but I've done it so many times I've lost count.  And I want to cry right now, I really do, but that would be too cliche, so I just write until I make so many mistakes I can't stand myself anymore.  I wish you could understand what you have and cherish it.  I have this habit of falling for the wrong people.   

my relationship with eating has always been bad, but it's getting worse.  I ate half a meal after not eating since 11 and I felt sick sick sick, guilty sick.  

I feel the softest of things, of blue skies, and for once I want something not to sting.

sometimes

I think about dying

actually no, I think about it quite often. academically, be assured (lies, personal lies, but who's reading this anyway)

fuck you and everything you stand for, because it's not aligned with me. this is directed at so many people that I confuse the different yous. directions and indirections because I am really just a confused person in a big bad world with its gendered binary and sweet broken sorrow. I need cheer. Laughing helps me forget, but even that's hollow.

I go through intense periods of self loving and self loathing. It flip flops. There is no grandeur or madness. there is productivity and positivity. I wish you weren't so negative. I want to be loved but I feel like that won't happen ever ever ever.

Going to a party later tonight. Drinking is my curse and I'm awful at it. I'm awful at most things.

real, real

and fake and all that's in between

you say that I'm not capable of any real feelings, that I'm fake and filled with fickle fortune.

maybe that's in my head, but so is everything else, and blogs and lines of words and mixed emotions, run on sentences with no false intentions, I assure you

all I dream of is you, and the beauty and lies that form beneath me like vines of cruelty, of shame. I feel dirty and wrong and angry with myself if I don't form the exact words in my head and unfurling feelings of sickness and woe and horror, oh how dramatic I am when I'm running on empty and lack of sleep, emotions that are from the core, how am I so indifferent I don't know I don't know

but maybe you so deserved that, really really you did you did.

call us when you need to find out.

and when we're all cut up
and dangled out in spades
I'll wonder if you ever think of me
and everything you

is there no end to who I can't be?

if i was stronger i would tear you apart

never, never, never will I ever in all my endeavors encounter someone stronger than you

and i see the old men caterwaul and the young ones hold hands, smoking their first cigarettes. you are art, you know, the subtleties in rain and the fog smeared on window panes. I can see you in technicolor and crisp grey, and this will never be a song for you. (except that it is. expect an uproar.)

i wanna riot. I wanna rip up the streets and tear out your vicious words, kill you with kindness and softspoken affirmations. you wanted me to write you words you couldn't understand, so here you go. something to hold on to.

arent you proud of me? I've written something worth sharing and letting go.

family affair

the kid (Michael, as he has introduced himself for the fourth time in five minutes) is completely gone.

his legs wobble like the mint jello that your grandmother told you "not to touch, you little shit" when your mother's back was turned to concentrate on the red sauce. (well, that was my grandmother anyway.) the smell of beer soaks his shirt, mingling with his sweat as though they were old friends. my stomach seems to be rethinking the flat Lionshead I consumed an hour ago (keg beer isn't friendly anyway). his off white flat rim cap, incubus shirt, mesh shorts and dunks scream "bro," and I inch away from him to avoid boy germs. Then I remember he is one person ahead of me for beer pong. Oh, the politics of playing a stupid party game.

"Hey man, what's up?" I shout at him over the thump of techno in the basement. I'm maintaining my distance, a good balance of politeness and self-preservation.

"Nothing much! Just chillin', this party is bangin'! Am I right?" he says, with what he probably assumes is a playful backhanded thump on my chest.

I am not one of the boys; that hit hurt, but I let it slide. This isn't really about me, after all. I pretend to not have heard what he said, for the sake of continuing an otherwise dead conversation. "The music's real loud, can you say that last part again?"

"Yo, bra, I forgot," he says, with a loud guffaw that turns heads. "I've had, like, twenty beers. How many have you had?" Once again, there is a jab to my sternum; only this time, it's from a pointed finger! Even better.

"Just the one, keeping it safe tonight," I reply.

(There is some truth to this statement. Last night I got so wasted that I had to hold hands with a boy I had only met a few hours before, a boy who dragged me along when the cops nearly broke down the door of Alpha Tau Omega. My sweaty feet slipped around in bronze gladiator sandals as a redhead shook his head and a black haired kid just helped me along because he didn't want to be alone either.)

"Aw man, that sucks, designated driver, ha ha ha," he replies, not aware of what I was saying. His eyes widen for a moment, as glazed as a Krispy Creme doughnut in a Windexed shop window. "This party's off the hook! Am I right, am I right man?"

No, Michael. You are not right. Army parties suck by default, with muscled young men hide their fear of the middle east with vodka ice cubes and the sensation of a tight ass against their dicks. There is the bitterness of single women in not-dresses, stilettos wearing down their already flat feet. Boys devour the lips of girls they sit next to in anthropology, unhooking bras while caressing crunchy, gel soaked hair.

"Sure, it's awesome," I say. He looks away, and I slip in, prepping my ping pong ball and letting go.

sure as porcelain.

back to back, they talk, knowing the next phrase
wrists and hands in sync,
gliding along in strangely dank September air.
my feet press into worn soles, aching
as my jeans cling to my body like a scared child
I walk onward.

In passing, I think of you and your sturdy hands
not thne most important thing, but striking to me
as are your eyes, as is your smile and stature
and all I want is you to hold me
as your face whispers things into my neck
I walk onward.

I sit to waste time, delaying my needs
as I write bad thoughts onto glowing screens
jumbled and frayed, weary and incomplete
I can't say that I will ever feel the same
The gut to the knife is an everyday deal
I walk onward.

and even as you pass me by
a stolen glance, eyes pressed together
as young things rest their hands on mutual thighs
breathing in out in out
accepting each other as their own
I feel a hollowness deep in my chest.

I walk onward.

inaccurately named

i never said i wanted rubies or jewels
or anything else for that matter
all I said I wanted was the price of a good set of gloves,
ones to hide and look at every once in a while in the glove compartment

(because no one puts gloves in the glove compartment anymore --
were there ever gloves in it? why was it called that?)

and I get tired of the same lines,
but it keeps you going so I don't really mind

not june

every aspect of my life hurts

but I tip back my head and laugh because when everything hurts you know that deep down you are alive.  when it's sunny outside, I want rain, even though the overcast will also kill me anyway.

in my heart of hearts (if there is such a thing -- what's with all the metaphorical language?  if THAT'S even a word), I know it will pass but it's a matter of when and how.

away away i'm gonna wash it all away

what a drag

I still think about you all the time.  it hurts, it stings, and the fact that you don't care about my existence hurts even more.

I'm reading into your signals.  are you happy now?

the sun comes up -- I think about you

all I do is think of you

and I hate it so, so, so much.

just know -- 

you drive me crazy, with or without being there.

woman like a man (just like virginia woolf)

when I can't sleep (want to, but can't, will force myself not to) I write.  Go me.

I wonder what it would be like if I had been born a genderless human.  Or more androgynous than I am.  Because no matter what I wake up as, how I see myself in my mind and on paper, when I look in the mirror I see the face of a girl -- heart face and round eyes, blue ice and strange October features on a December baby.  "you are mine" (michaelson 10).   I hate waking up a boy because I feel it in my bones and skin.  I dont' have boy pants, so I wear whatever pants I find and band T-shirts with a high neckline, black with sleeves past the armpits so people don't see the lack of shaving.  I wear jean jackets and sneakers and feel my vocal range become husky and low.  I see girls in the street.  Today I was a person.  I wore a skirt and a band T-shirt.  I felt like a foreigner in my own body.  

I don't know why this is happening to me, but I'll go with it.  who knows?  it might shape me as a person.  every other fucked up thing has, after all.

when I see couples down the street, I walk on by.

I'm all I've got to hold onto.

And of course i'm scared.

i'm scared of losing everything because of my selfishness or my independence

of my flakiness and I'm not willing to change a thing



"I, I'm a mascot for what you've become" (wentz 7).



because baby, I can't fight it,

and you, you can't fix a thing.



when you think about taking yourself out just so you can stop thinking, thinking about it all the time

and I'm a coward so I don't try a thing.

updating in hallways.



"It's horrid to see you again, so bored of being... alive, alive, alive" (molko at some point).

seventeen

three more years till i actually have to grow up

brittle breakable girls

always feel like shit on holidays

though the sound resonates through both ears
i don't feel anything from it
perhaps it's the meds that make me feel like this
or her, or anyone
because the world doesn't revolve around me
fuck your new year
and fuck your sunshine and open casket
I want a temporary death, so I can test it out
and get a refund if I'm not satisfied
guaranteed
ha ha ha, but nobody's laughing
and it's just me alone and the static
and your voice crooning in my ear. fuck your sunshine
fuck your glory days
these aren't mine
I won't peak
merry fucking christmas

and never have I ever

felt so bad about this
i'm so sorry
but not really
because i'm all tears and crocodile wishes
all loves and lonely heartbroken words
and ways and clocks and ticking ticking time
i fail to rhyme to change.
"and i literally broke the english language"
sorry to hear that. i'm starting to look like you
i hope you know
i dont think i'm brilliant enough for anyone
"just because you don't like a person"
no, more because a person told me i was an not-genuine failure
why thank you
i know you meant it well

maybe I would have been something you'd be good at.

I sometimes wonder what it would have been like if I never met you. If I didn't walk the streets without thinking about your hair, your clothes, and your eyes, because I wouldn't know them. I wouldn't know your scent. I wouldn't know your fingers or your hands. I wouldn't hear your voice or see your face even if we're estranged. I wouldn't know about it because we wouldn't know each other.

And I finally realize now that I don't care.

I don't regret you. Not in the slightest. I just regret that you thought that way about me. And that it ended so badly. Two different people in different phases of moving on. So yes, I had forgotten about needing you by the time you "broke it off". I had forgotten what it was like to have the longing, the stupid aching feeling in the chest. You hadn't become insignificant to me so much as I forgot how to love you, how to want to talk to you. I'm not sorry about it. I just regret that you couldn't acknowledge the inevitable. I wish you the best of luck, really. And I'm glad it's weird for you, because it's weird for me too.

I'm not the bad guy here, you know? Don't make me out to be that. It takes two to fall apart.

i don't follow anything

because I don't know where it will lead me,
whatever it is.
you say you want things I could give you,
but I'm too shy to say
you're a wreck, just a soft, sweet wreck
and the conventions of this language can't
even begin to describe any of this
six months to this day and i would have gone for it
gone for you and the idea of you, I guess that's what I loved
and even after all of this, I cradle my head in my hands
and taste the same old regret, over and over again
just musky enough to let me know that it's weird for you
it's too normal for me. i can't say what I feel because I am blind
don't you even speak to me, because I am avoiding being an idiot and fool
and breaking off what could have been beautiful.
i'm sorry.

there is nothing here

and there is nothing less than nothing left

I'm writing a novel about a girl who has to save the world and is barely passing Precalc.

Her name is Molly Jane Fitzgerald and I love her to pieces.

As I have many times, I wonder if anyone reads this. Hmmm.

I can't wait to meet you either.

i'm still trapped between the end and the means

I wonder if anyone actually reads this thing, if anyone actually acknowledges my existence, hangs on every word.

I want to be you. I don't want this. i'm already gone in so many ways and it hurts to say, oh it hurts hurts hurts me to say this to you

"harsh but excruciatingly true" oh you would think that wouldn't you, tear me in two, oh my isn't this a funny little mess i've gotten myself into.

and it's only you who would expect so much of me. how kind. how generous. how considerate of you. I don't fucking care. This is a place for florid poetry and pretending I'm smarter than I actually am, but right now I'm just really fucking mad. I never realized that there was any color in the pture at all, I thought there was only dust and sepia. not even sure how to pronounce sepia. (see-pee-a? seh-pee-ah?) I don't know, and I can't be sure, and I can't say I want you because I don't know you . I don't know a lot of things. This is a surefire place for repetition and it's boring and I hate myself for things I don't even know about. What is my swing state? What is the color of my rain? Why does the sky listen, not listen, throw itself before my feet and laugh in my face?

why is there such laughably bad handwriting in this? It's not as though I haven't tried to fight it. I really have, honest/. I'm being good. I'm not even bothering to correct this and it's rife with grammatical errors and my fingers hurt and this is not even a grammatically correct sentence and i don't care what you think as long as it's about meeeeee... oh I love quoting horrid lyrics. I can't spell, but the thing is I really can.

I just want to be told pretty lies. I want you to treat me like I deserve to be treated. I want you to not tell me how a relationship should go, that I'm wrong when I know that I'm right and you're just being a bitch.

Love me, love me, say that you love me. Ha.

turpentine kisses and mistaken blows

I want you to be my heart, the lining of my coffin, casket, silver basket

and the ruins of my name be the father, the son, the holy spirit, and all that catholic bullshit they feed you under the frames.

take me down and make me whole again.

repeat me on and on

"lovely lovely lovely bones until I get my own"

but you wouldn't, would you?

cryptic city, no party for a sad sad soul.

it all came out of the blue and I tore after you
you can't recall, well neither can I
lying in this field of broken glass,
the moments passed and you said,
"you could be my boy if you only tried"

and how am I supposed to feel about that?
where am I to go when there's no holding back?
and what did I do to veer off the tracks
you said, "now that the world is something..."

girls will be boys all torn up inside
and boys will be girls with nothing to hide
and I'm in the middle, just 'cause I lied
and said, "I need to let it go"

love is

all relative

the poor and the wise all know the same tricks

and here I am
weaving charms through the hair of old wives,
gypsies, men of distortion/distinction

they wear converse and speak in tongues
beards and all, I love them and their urban smell
i still feel so unclean and tainted by their world

"as the statues cry
and the buildings crumble side by side
at least we'll know now who was left behind
shattered through the halls
with your arms spread wide to love it all
I'm not sure if I can break these walls

trip on icy stairs/stares
my whole world is burning, I don't care
because you're not here
breath on jaded glass
we all knew that this would come to pass
but will I disappear?"

life (spare) changes

I guess I really am losing you. is it bad that I don't feel bad?

i'm blue and floating, a different face in different water, time changes, fish slowly drying up on beaches and hurt life no other

(dreaful sentences, "you can't wirte you can't think anymore")

and every word I remember, because it's only you. hurt me and take me with you, but fuck all if you're taking my soul.

and all the hurt you call your own, you know, you know (nobody's ever you)

I still feel like killing myself all the time. And drinking myself half to death, chemical cocktails all in a stir.

don't wait up for me. let your mess and fairy wings fly you away. I can't find the words I want to express the image and the moment. I want your smile, your voice, your face, your eyes. I would make the perfect freak baby/child/woman.

want me I am all yours for the taking

still

I wonder if the moon ever gets lonely.

when the lights went black

we fell in and out of love so easily
repeated letters and phrases, over and over again
though I did, I really did mean it in the end

I recognize the song in your headphones, in your heart
you look lost and I feel that stretch
between seriousness and playing it off as some fun

and my mediocrity shines through like no other
like crystals set in gates, like china trapped in glass
and really, my skin is disgusting, I want to unzip myself
and walk some great distance for you

I stay away from the specifics, but I want someone to hold my hand and mean it

oh can't you stop me from thinking so much?

itrwywfm v 2.0

you don't have an original thought in you

and we are lonely planets, constellations, missing links and half broken pieces. I can't imagine you underwater, but it would be nice if I could.

x out the numbers. I want you to notice me though you wouldn't. it's sad and pathetic but perhaps I have surpassed you in the vague category.

definite. not defiant. not definate.

ridiculous, not rediculous.

why can't anyone spell?

about a girl

I know that I am a machine, but don't you still believe that I can feel?
That I'm real somehow? Really now?

Why don't you spin some dreams for me
lace and wine, ghosts in the arrangements
"and it never, it never made her happy"
she brooded over counterfeit dollars and loose change

hey babe, don't you fall down, I'll be there with a little hand
Champagne breaths; phrases becoming sentences
(I hate roses because they remind me of everyone that has ever left me)

I don't think I have ever loved anyone.
It's just too easy.

Sometimes I feel the words expand and contract in my head.
sometimes I wonder if there's anything worth being in this place.

can someone prove me wrong? can someone stop me from sealing the walls off in my own little world?

I read my old journals from junior high school and realized what an asshole I was. What the hell did I know? Everything was buried. Everything I know now was not apparent then. All I knew was that I was miserable and nothing was right about the world. I still think about killing myself on average three times a day. It's mostly out of habit now -- the only security I have now is my bullshit misery.

is this really what you want from me?

fell into the well long ago

i never meant to learn it, to recite poetry with hands tied behind my back.

HURT ME. it's all i deserve

"sometimes I want to know what it's like in your head"

in fickle bouts of weather, the artist clings to her pen and weeps tar tears.
and she laughs at the crybabies around her because she never really will.
the crocodiles and ticking clocks, and I don't ever want to grow older
I pulled your hair back when you threw up,
and it was true love spread against the porcelain
and I suppose I could want you sometime.
You're just too far behind to tell loose tales; it seems I'm farther up the tree.

The artist found her niche amongst the flower children of her mother's youth
Finding cinnamon boys to inhale and alabaster girls to smooth over,
She leaves no preface or explanation, just fills the tank with liquidated dreaming
and keeps driving past roses and crumpled street signs
I am not connected with her in any way, but I know that one day I will meet her.



It's been a while since I've really used this. I've missed you all, even if I'm the only person who reads or writes in this. Please tell me otherwise. I've missed this feeling.

rossie radetsky won the war

you're the only thing worth fighting for in this place, kid.

I'm not even sure if I love you. Maybe I'm telling myself to love you so the pain isn't so big when you don't love me. I feel your love slowly sinking in, and I'm not the best part about this place. I'm not saying things to be self-deprecating, I'm being honest: you can do better than me. In fact, I want you to do better than me because I love that woman there with her bleach blonde hair. tell me there's a way out because I will follow you.

Is there something you wanted to talk about? Hear about? Tell me about?

thorns and you have no idea

why am I so okay with everything? I really, really shouldn't be considering the circumstances.

I feel sick but it's funny how I can laugh at everything.

"take cold showers every day and throw my life away"

felt as though you were spiraling out of control?

As though nothing you say matters because in the end, you're wrong anyway?

I take a lot of patience. I deserve all I get. But I do think you should feel bad.

Despite the fact that I'm a monster, you did hurt me
who's martyring themselves now?

I feel old and young and fucked up. My right eyes hurts so much. I do like myself, I do, I do. This is who I am. I will not apologize for anyone.

Congratulations, you deserve this so much. Fuck your religion, I just want to see you happy. I prefer my characters to my friends, is that sad? I don't know. I don't care, I don't, I don't.

we're very wide awake

the moon and I

sometimes I wonder if I am changing for the worse. I am just trying to make history here.

"I want to be a revolutionary." All the power to you. You are much more intelligent than I am. Take off the end, add something new, that's me, both yes and no. "Well that's not you at all." Well, you don't really know me, do you? I am so multi-faceted that you have only seen a few of my fronts, a few of my traits. I am many different things to many different people, and I wonder sometimes if that will be the death of me. I love you no matter what, but it's over, so don't fantasize about someone idolizing.

I'm a lonely little planet, and you hold the key to the city, and they're just words, just words.

I feel like a fool when I'm talking to you.

But never again, never never again.

your maturity is astounding

really, spot on. great job. you fucking asshole.

how could you single me out and treat me like shit when I am to blame for nothing? If you're insecure take it out on something else, because you talk endlessly about people being immature and people putting their problems on everyone else and then you do the same fucking thing. you huge fucking hypocrite. I don't get it. I will not work in a situation where I can't be friends with who I'm working with. I will quit. Because you, no doubt, will turn the others against me to see fit to your stupid plans or whatever. I will not be part of your vision. I need my life and you dominate it. I guess I'm depressed? Going into a bad cycle. cold as hell but it may be warm out? I'm so sad. I'm so sick (of this). I can't compete. I need a real friend and I don't know who to turn to. Perhaps I should just give up the ghost.

I have no muse. I'm with you and I have no muse. I don't want to be with you, I suppose. I'm along for the ride, I suppose. Whatever. I feel like I'm leading you on because I feel like I'm leading everyone on. What is wrong with me? I don't know. I feel like I will break you. You pull away if I show emotion. I don't know. are you afraid of me? I don't know. Punctuated with three words bound to drive anyone else mad, but not you, not you. You're different. You're special. Do I like this? I don't know.

see page one for details. I'm not even going to give you that much credit. aaaaaaaaaaaaH!

ashdfljashdflahdfljsahdflsahdfljhdsfljsah fuck you!

you can have it take it or leave it

I feel no sort of obligation to anyone. I do things now because I want to and not because someone wants me to. Fuck you if you expect anything more from that. Because you won't be with me all the time; this is my life and these are the choices that I make.

Perhaps I'm just not good at being cryptic anymore. Perhaps I'm sick of being alone. my words are that of a child and soon I will look different than before.

follow me down.

woman like a man

hey, this is me getting out what I want to say so you can read it. Keep it in mind.

I'd rather be your friend for now from what we previously discussed. It's just easier that way for me. I have college looming overhead and my friends are enough.

Also, I don't feel like I like you as much as you like me. It's weird. but I don't feel any obligation toward you whatsoever. I don't want a relationship. Not, like, never ever, but not for the foreseeable future. Perhaps not one with you either. You're too cool of a person. My first impression was right or wrong? Don't know. You're awkward and I'm being a bit of a child but I can't deal with that.

Who am I kidding, I'm always a child.

But you make me nervous as fucking hell and you're ugly but you're not. I don't know. I just want to be your friend. I kind of regret the initial reaction and I regret making out with you and I regret being an impulsive idiot. I feel as though there will always be this tension and i know it's mutual. I wish you didn't like me as much as you do, then this would be easier.

fuck all I fucking hate this and you but not really.

asdfhlhfdlasdfhlashflafjdhlashfdj.

misery is so fond of me, he curls against me at night and whispers sweet nothings

I have memory lapses, forgetting who I tell things to. And I'm unforgivable at this point.
"Stop making excuses for yourself. You're too wrapped up in yourself."

Well I'm sorry for not being the perfect mannequin you want me to be. It's all about you if you like, every single last bit of it, even if I'm lying through my teeth. Not it. Can't play the game, don't want to, miles and miles and miles. Things don't come in threes anymore, they dawdle on bye.

"I love you dear, but you're really quite the drag. What you need is foresight. She seems to be good at that. Pyre, love, you fucking suck."

Why thank you, I do try. I do weddings, funerals, bar mitzvahs...

You wish. Try me. You'll no doubt se something close to love. The sun rises, the sky is blue with regret. I can't speak in anything but lyrics, tuneless because I lack a voice. I lack a heart. You say I'm compassionate, lie detector determined that was a lie said to please me so you could get what you wanted. Well, is this what you wanted? Me begging on my knees? Me distressed and worn down? I'll martyr myself all I like, it's my right. kay thanks.

Awww, petty baby. No one gives a shit about your problems. Well, wouldn't you know? I've got no real problems but I like to make believe. Instead, I just have anger. Anger sorrow pain the like you wish you wish you wish.

Drives me up the wall but I wish that you could reply. I wish I didn't have this shameless crush on you. Shameless. Shame shame shame.

Directionless as we are. Fuck God, I've got the friends in my head to fall back on. You wish you were so acid bright and wise as I am, oh you wish. Asterisk smilie face.

Love the fall but hate where I land. Mind the gap (whatever that means).

this is what you get, and it's all you deserve too

It's remarkable how I hate using the word remarkable. I feel too old when I do so.

It's notable that today is the anniversary of something. something that never was.

ha.

we had a history of violence together

My heart aches for people I barely know. Why do I want you so?

"not going left, not going right"

I'm in love with that song.

And not with you, kid. You're out of luck today.

I missed you, in short terms

in the long shot, I was nothing really.

Fond of your affection. I won't even understand what this means when it's all done. And I want my death because it will be the only thing that's all mine. All mine. I don't want it now, but I want the experience. I guess if I knew, I'd be okay, but you can't know. It's not allowed. "Oh love, I missed you so much. I did. And would you hug me, I'm dying for your arms around me." Though not so dramatic. But the intention would be the same. If my world were perfect. I can't help speaking in fragments. I need to do work, work, work, but my mind is in a perfect dream.

I had the credentials and everything, I was just too fucked up for words.

Oh, my despair! How fucking laughable. I'm a right mess and an awful one at that. Insulting myself is just the custom around here. You should know that, silly goose.

Condescending all the same, you loved me for it, all of you, once and never again.

you are

things not worth rhyming

[perhaps you are not]

the death of me

after all

especially in fragments, truth be told, wouldn't you know

sing like it

I was always a beggar and a loner,
never stepping twice, never making mistakes,
and all too accustomed to the meltdown

and I loved you still

and after it all i was vague as ever, beautiful as ever, personal as ever

and it was all a lie

I feel like a fraud, now as ever. I walked so far that I can't see your face anymore and it's all better off that way. It once had a tune that I remember all too well, that I'd like to forget. Am I getting better? I don't know. I swear I'm not a liar (though yes, yes I am, and a hypocrite too) I just don't know.

love is an empty word for me, meaningless, and my delusions of grandeur are all withstanding. "jump out the window, i can survive. stab myself, i can survive. shoot myself not because I want to die, just so I can shut my brain off and not think anymore." time is going by slower than i thought it was. I could be doing so much more and there's so much I owe to school, home, my friends, my life. I'm fucking up and i'm getting more and more depressed. It's just a part of growing up. Go fuck yourself then.

in need of help, now as ever, and i can't even hold on anymore

i still haven't come to terms with

my selfishness and stupidity.
how I hurt others along the way and how obnoxious I am.
how teenaged and mediocre my writing is.
how I'm really not that smart, I'm just a "stupid fuck with brilliant luck" who can only quote songs to describe myself.
how when I put myself down, it hurts everyone more.
how I'm dragging everyone down with me because I can't bear the thought of losing anyone, not when it's happened so many times before.

to my parents: I'm sorry for not being everything you wanted to be. I feel as though I can't win with you. You say you're going to support me in whatever you do, but I dance around topics involving who I want to marry or be with because I see mom's shudder and I hear dad's want to say "it's your CHOICE" in what he says. I can't measure up to your expectations. I can't take the pressure. You do so much and I'm so scared of everyone and the world and having to take care of them when you die. I wish it was an "if". I truly, truly do. I don't want to go away. I don't want so many things that are in my life because I brought them upon myself. I have so much, you say that so much, and I now know I do, but still I forget it and I feel like even you two are going to get sick of me too. Like I'm getting sick of myself, like the people I love who leave me in some way.

I don't know what it is anymore, not at all.

to my friends: I regret so much I have said and done because you have been there for me regardless. I ignore the fact that you have your own problems and I just rampage. I get drunk and make phone calls. I lie. I cheat, I break promises, I fail at all things a decent person could. I'm a mess, the friend you can't count on. I say things and do other things, and I'm spiteful and wrong and I make so many mistakes and I, I, I can't lose you all to this. But I'll never show you so there is no point. I can get out of bed, I ignore it and I instead spread my misery to everyone else. it is my curse, family curse, person curse, it's all mine like a blanket or a toy except it's just sad. I'm amazed that you haven't disappeared, I'm amazed you haven't said what's wrong because I know it's coming.

People I love in my life leave me, so it's so hard to let go.

Follow me. Don't follow me, too dangerous, stand clear, stay back! I'm a whirlwind of bad excuses and false hopes, no presents, no showers, no love affairs for lack of commitment. I want someone to hold me -- you to hold me, him, her, they, it, whatever -- and tell me it's okay to be fucked up. I can't convince myself because I can barely hold on as it is. I'm going insane. I think sunsets are lame and nights and days are both overrated. I hurt my life and my imaginary love and my imaginary hiding places. I wonder if anyone reads this, like I read other blogs, anxiously waiting for more inspiration and more heartache. "nobody likes me, maybe if I cry" She describes it all too well.

Too sick to eat, too sick of myself to be awake, too afraid to sleep. I don't notice cars. I don't notice street signs. Letters swerve and disappear. I am the cure, I am the curse. I am the queen of being vague and a bitch to boot. goodbye in so many languages just to throw you off. You'll never catch me, I'm far too unnoticeable.

so sorry that i refuse to apologize

but of course!

Here I am crying over something that's a stupid teenage thing but here's what's happening.

I am getting out of the house and not doing what I should because I can't concentrate on it because I'm going fucking batshit insane. I'm hearing things on a loop on repeat when they're not there, PEOPLE ARE FUCKING TALKING IN MY HEAD THAT AREN'T ME. I'm seeing things that aren't there and I'm imagining myself dead and my friends dead and things in ruins and having horrible dreams and how the fuck am I supposed to let you know that without you committing me or coddling me or losing trust in me or anything I don't want or need? I need to be alone. I need to die, I need to do something to escape this bullshit that is called my life.

I'm going crazy and you won't believe me. No one will. I just want to die right now. I can't pull any sort of card and I don't know. I feel like my blog is my best friend at this point because it can't have a fucking opinion and it can't yell at me, or make me feel small and useless, or make me want to destroy myself from the inside out. Fuck it fuck it all I hate this and I hate you and I hate hate hate hate hate hate all of it.

fucking faggot

fuck you and your career and all your useless things

ps this is a letter to myself.

i know it's wrong, but i want some sort of horrid disorder

I have something to blame for all my fucking problems, my zoning out, my most of me.

-why I wake up with all the bruises and cuts that I can't explain or even begin to understand where they come from.
-why I hear voices in my head and aloud and I feel hands on me when I'm completely alone.
-why I feel something else take over me when I'm angry, another person almost, and I can't explain why I just said that or I just fucked up your perfectly arranged things.
-my hatred for everything and my other worlds.
-the fact that I feel so much pain from some stupid little thing for hours after the fact.

it's all closing in. I hate it i hate it.

rr again

and hours and hours and hours

you're still not done, he said, and left with a wink.

There are so many people that I wish I knew, that I wish I could talk to and tell my secrets. They're so big, they're so successful, and I want so badly to be in that circle so I'm validated somehow. Always a dreamer, a quitter, a lover (but no, no) and a fighter for a stupid cause.

i am the kill, you see

and I delayed everything I did always, even now

It's so much easier to do this than to take the time. I'm bound to my technology, the breath of machines, the breath of disease as well, always just the right words or I freak out

"leave her alone, it's not that bad" until it gets worse, you fucking bitch

Maybe I'm just wrong, maybe no one is (use me holly, come on and use me, though I didn't even write this line) You know me best, after all, now don't you with all the condescensions necessary and I don't even know if that's the right term! fuck it! fuck you, stupid whore! (My maturity is striking) i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you.

nothing is funny because everything is, and don't decipher this because you're wrong already.

and i shouldn't feel

as though it were breaking really
because it's not, because my corrections are merely reflections of my transgressions. the dull sound at the end, the anti-din, the zone where I sleep too late and eat too much.

it's funny how fast I'm falling and how I still can't let you go, let it go, let go. I want to affect someone so badly, just to make a difference in someone's life, have them think about me nonstop for a change. maybe i want him to fall off the face of the planet and for her to love me again. maybe i want a lot of things I can't have.

I want someone who can be there for me, someone who will slap me and tell me I'm wrong and tell me to stop martyring myself, and then to kiss me better. Or hug me better. Or simply be patient with me, because I'm all sorts of fucked up and I get nervous just thinking about someone loving me that way, like that, like all of that. A bundle of conflicting emotions, in a satchel or a handkerchief.

and I feel like one of those rock stars who uses their blog to write cryptic messages. I idly wonder if anyone reads this from time to time. and then I realize it doesn't matter who reads this, they can't say a thing. they can just be affected.

that alone is reassuring, at least.

this is a place for my deeper thoughts, but...

RULE 34 HAS JUST RUINED MY CHILDHOOD.

ruins

i had felt you

better by my design, by design, screen, desire

forceps, concepts, made up words and misprints

"boy has fears of a child" I don't want to grow up I swear it

and I can't deny you everything anymore.

much love, much love, squalor and all the rest.

progress

January bit me baby-gentle and still left a mark,
an imprinted arch, easy like the sun.
it was the best blur:
(field trees sidewalk school home home school you you you)
and I couldn't have wished for anything better
if you sold my dreams and pocketed the rest, it was fine.
teenaged and irrelevant, the girls laughed
as they cradled the world in their painted hands and jewels.
It was there that I wanted to evoke some form of tragedy,
to be still, to stand with limbs jutting into awkward angles,
wearing the white dress you loved on me,
dusted with blues that would make you shudder like no other.
charmed, I was so sure of that, impassioned by how you moved
my conversations were rehearsal on the streets at night
wild and alone, with moonbeams for eyes
and bones beneath taut skin
I spoke such pretty words, made all the right moves
and still could not get you to look at me.
The cat scratches on my hands chased one another, not making it.
As I prayed you weren't in love,
it was as though I had passed through time by mistake, still a child
broken and crazy I didn't belong

I was too medicated to feel your grip --
or maybe I felt it and I just didn't care, like with everything else,
words slipping like water through my stubby cracked fingers
postmortem depression, I supposed, with the melodrama to match
the flowers floated on air and flew away, with hints of tar and lace
and I smiled for lack of any appropriate reaction
otherwise I would have cried, I really would have, honest
leaning against the cardboard artwork I wanted to destroy
grimy and decayed because I didn't want to be noticed anymore,
and it was a time when I just didn't want to wake up anymore
and I wouldn't miss the sunlight, and I wouldn't miss the rain
those things held so dear in single numbers, small teeth and all
I listened to synthetic music and felt the same,
and I finally felt your grip, and the prepositions and connecting words
it all made sense somehow, through the worn away haze, unappreciated
"there is no finality as there is no certainty. there is no finality as there is no certainty."
and I was still killed by the oncoming car
and I was still killed by the onslaught of pills
and I was still killed by assumption
and I was still killed
I hoped you slept well that night, up till all hours, still wide eyed and plagued
I ignored the sunrise, like I always do, flattering by reflecting its acceptance
as I waited for you to let me go and watched you leave without a look back

"your anxiety is endearing, but really love, get a grip"

I am jittery like always, thoughts racing, head pounding.

miss that, miss that, miss that, miss you, miss us.

fuck, and that's all I feel.

we are useless words, the word "useless" popping up everywhere, and unashamed and proud and all that. and i'm freaking out and i want to cry, I want to scream I want to do all those things I see in books in magazines in love and lovers of it. my ideas of humanity are off and that's fine by me just as long as you keep it down

"maybe yr just like me
maybe noone is" (wentz from wherever)

and it rings true after all because i can only quote things I didn't do but make sense, it makes sense, it all makes sense in the end.

and it never goes, never ever until i die, which at this rate is not far off

save me

this is a pattern, I see

another depressing entry, but what else is new

I've been lied to obviously, and I hate that, resent it so much

FUCK

i somehow think that

you're bluffing or pretending

please don't, it'll break my little stone heart

videotape

there is a distinct sadness that only you can make me feel
you, with your cutting fingers and horror eyes
I wear sleeves because I hate my arms, and you are so perfect
there are so many things you don't know
and you can't know
because I never will, I never will
"you're getting so thin, you're slipping away"
people don't ask me how I am really
chupacabra, and its awful claws,
and it's awful because i can't spell that, i don't think
his voice twists me in ways your words are more successful with
and it is so long after dark, you have to come inside
and there is so much silence here, it's pressing me down like no other
there is no need to interpret this, you'll be wrong
there are no metaphors, no similes
but there are people who do exist, even if in my mind solely,
they are based on true events and facts.
i look up ghost stories because I want to scare myself into submission
and still it doesn't work, and I am left merely with dreams
and the faint ocean spray, and your voice calling me on and on
in the distance, on the horizon, into the black and grey,
the blue of all things real and poignant, and that is where I belong.

self

I'm depressed

and that's all I can really say

because I am

and it's mindless, and I don't know where to start

you are my nightmare

i wait a little while longer, green haired and fearful, your stupid face is etched in my skull. and I hate you. and I hate you. starting sentences with prepositions never got anyone anywhere. Behind locked doors I can do whatever I choose. I can't cry I really can't and i'm sick of punctuation, it's really something. I can't sit still but I don't know where the fuck I want to go or what I'm going to do with the rest of my life. I hate it. I hate this all so much. it's my hatred and honor and despair but goddamn it eats me alive. These are words. these are words all words and the worse it grows the bigger hole I dig for myself the grave to throw myself in, the maggots crawling into my orifices. don't you love it. isn't it precious. are. you. in. love. with. me? I don't know. I don't even want you to be because he will always be in the back of your mind, always always and I cry at night in my dreams because they will not surface and I am ultimately numb but you knew that and this is essentially the greatest run on sentence in creation. I am not you and you are not me but we should be one but we can't and he is the girl, the love, the one that you hold dear and obsess obsess there are so many esses and ems and all that is awful and i hallucinate because yes i still love you I will never quite be over you it was not long ago it was something of a dream and I hate it this is one big block and it will never stop it goes and goes and goes and I can' say hello because i'm terrified. there is only you.

chains

you broke me



into this person that I never wanted to become, but was going to anyhow. I love you still.



For it? I don't know.



I want to be tough and I hope I am succeeding at giving the image of self assuredness, at the very least. I don't want to be afraid anymore.

I don't even know what I'm running from. Always running, never giving in. I can't. Especially not now.

And all these nights, where you just feel so desperate and alone and wanting to cry.

but I will not let myself cry. I can't. I can't let anything happen to me, can't put anyone in the position where they could take advantage of me. The last time I let someone in I got fucked over. And I still love her. Still I do.

you're all I have and even if you're part of me, there's still something there.

they sold me dreams that I pocketed too

"my girl, I know what it is to be you

but I must say

I would never want to be you

again"

don't let it

my senses uprooted from somewhere.

I was a kid once, I swear, with gold hair and light skin, a charmer if any, and all the wiser than I am now.

funny, it's a week till christmas and eight days to a year older and I don't feel changed.

well of course I am, but at this second no. was the epitome of teenage catastrophe, with bloodshot eyes and all the rest, screechy laugh because really, what is there that I could say that would change a thing? She spends her times with her old friends and new, walls spinning and pen ran dry with lack of inspiration. She gets nowhere. She sees too many things. She falls in love.

She is me, but not so much anymore. My palindrome, I suppose, my reverse that could be the same, it has enough potential anyway.

the calluses on my fingers peel and dry, cracked under pressure and dry cold air. It makes me smile, however small and my back hurts.

loneliness makes me glamorous.

i wish I could stay sane when I'm around you

but I can't and oh how the tide changes

hhnhcvkgs bvxdfh

try as i might, it's funny how you slip by me

i love lovelovelove to see you fall, to see the twist of your body as you move. it's fire for my writer's mind, ever the observer.

perhaps there is some beauty in lust, an artform

I never knew who I was and who you were but it was rather fun all the same