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.
Friday, January 22, 2010
Monday, January 11, 2010
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.
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.
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
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?
Tuesday, October 06, 2009
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.
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.
Friday, October 02, 2009
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.
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.
Friday, September 25, 2009
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.
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.
Sunday, August 02, 2009
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
Thursday, July 02, 2009
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
Wednesday, May 06, 2009
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?
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
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.
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
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.
Thursday, February 05, 2009
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).
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).
Friday, December 26, 2008
Thursday, December 25, 2008
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
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
Saturday, December 13, 2008
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
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
Sunday, November 30, 2008
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.
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.
Sunday, November 16, 2008
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.
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.
Thursday, November 13, 2008
Tuesday, November 04, 2008
Sunday, October 26, 2008
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.
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.
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