L

every light in the city is a different soul
and by the time they go out, i hope they are whole.

the midnight mumble

i think maybe the reason people think i'm a bitch is because i refuse to adjust my self image to cooperate with theirs. like, i am not going to pretend to be a dumb bitch just so that i seem more attractive and less threatening to some idiot dude. i am not going to say less of what's on my mind just because the way girls usually handle their shit is all that behind-the-back bullshit.

and it's a weird thing to try to figure out because on the one hand i know i cross lines that i don't mean to cross sometimes, like maybe there are times when a little bit of censorship might do me good, but like for the most part i guess i'm just like, k. why should i shape my life around anyone but me?
when you die, you die alone. doesn't matter how many people are standing around your death bed, like. when you go, you don't bring anyone with you.

and i think worse than this idea of dying alone that everyone is so fucking afraid of is the idea of dying with a bunch of fucking ghosts of the people you could have been swirling around you if you'd made different choices. i don't wanna get old and wonder if i made the right choices about my life. like, i don't want the final review of my life to be some kinda half-ass quantitative measurement of "did i pick the right answer" yes or no shit.

when i look back on all my shit, i just wanna know that i did exactly what i felt was right in the moment and if you live like that then it's never the wrong decision. i wanna know that i felt what i felt and i said what i meant and i did what i wanted to do. i wanna know that i lived in the exact moment in which i existed and didn't try to be this other person on the outside tryna pick and choose who i think i'm supposed to be. i just want to be.

and maybe that sounds ignorant. yeah, i think it kinda does. probably selfish too. but like, when i die, i'm not taking any of you fuckers with me. and to be honest, i don't really think it matters who's standing around your death bed in the end. life isn't about the people you'll be with when you die. it's about the people you're with while you're alive and vibrant and expressive and just like being as you are.

i think people have a weird idea about the value of the way other people remember you. none of it fucking matters. and for every person in the world who thinks i'm a bitch, great. that's a person for whom i didn't censor myself. that's a person who saw me as i actually am, and that scares people.

people call other people rude or crazy or mean or whatever because that person is expressing themselves in a pure enough state that the bluntness of themselves can overwhelm people who choose not to live like that. who live their life in choices instead of in moments and feelings and instincts and all the things that make us the beings we are. it's the animal base of us all. people forget that we're animals. if you can rationalize 800 fucking reasons that your dog decided to take a shit on the carpet why the fuck can't you wrap your head around another human being doing what they gotta do? which is hopefully not shitting on the carpet, but y'know.

i dunno what brought this on, but i guess i just started thinking about how people see me, and that's a shitty thought category for me in general because i know i come on strong. i know i say shit that makes people uncomfortable. i know i'm impatient and i can be rude as fuck and i can tear people down without a second thought sometimes and these are all clearly flaws but they are my flaws. and when i look back at all the bits of my life that might have contributed to somebody thinking i'm a bitch, i just start thinking to myself: if i could go back... would i change any of it?

and honestly, i think my answer is no. i've done a lot of embarrassing shit, the kinda stuff that makes you cringe when you remember it, but the one thing i've never done is tried to hide what i felt or bottle it up or like wait until a person left the room so i could talk shit about them or whatever. people i don't like fucking know i don't like them. i don't have time to pretend. i don't have time for that passive aggressive bullshit. and i don't expect people to pretend for me either, so really, if they think i'm a bitch and don't have the balls to say anything about it? your fuckin' problem, dude.

i am not going to downplay who i am and how i feel and what i wanna do and how i wanna react and turn everything into a series of fucking multiple choice questions to try and shape myself because that's fucking impossible. you don't pick a mold to grow into. you can't confine yourself within the carbon-copy cookie-cutter characters you think you wanna be because you are not that person. you can never be that person.

you literally can never be anyone else but you. no matter how hard you try. no matter what you try to bottle up or hide or change for other people. you will always be you. so i'm not gonna bother trying to adapt to the cages that other people choose to put themselves in. i'm not here to cater to as many people as possible so that i can be "remembered," because eventually everyone is forgotten. once you die you cease to exist and the memories of you fade the longer you aren't around to revive them. it all goes with time.

so maybe i'm a bitch. i think i know why people think that about me. and it's not like it doesn't get me down some days, not like it doesn't hurt to sometimes realize that maybe there are a lot of people out there who don't like you. but if i had the opportunity to go back and change it, eh, i'd still end up a bitch.

a thinking, feeling, unflinching, animal bitch - but at least there's only one of me. and that's better than a thousand ghosts of the "somebody else" i supposedly could have been.

"you'll get yours,
and i'll have mine.
here's hoping for christmas,
you ask for a spine."

ah, fuck it.

christmas eve eve

i have waaaaay less shit done than i usually do by this time of year.
have to wrap ALL my presents tomorrow because i procrastinated like a motherfucker,
plus the usual pre-holiday clean-up... yeesh. ah well.

okay and the readmore is gonna talk about ma lady biz, so. fair warning.

broken blood vessels never looked so sexy

newly read by brighter eyes,
played like music made of sighs.
he takes my burdens, makes them light.
night after night after night after night.

perfect tandem, tangled sheets,
he kills my colds and breaks my heats.
please oh please, you set me right -
night after night after night after night.

marked up like only i can see,
my baby left his claim on me.
i press down deep and hold on tight,
night after night after night after night.

y/n

you try to tell me happiness is a choice.
but mom, you took that choice away from me
before my hands were even big enough
to hold all the things i'm supposed to be.
i'm supposed to be happy,
or so i was told.
and i'm not sure if i missed the instructions,
skipped a step, took a detour not marked down on your map,
but mom, i am trying to choose your happiness
and every day is a fucking riddle that i get wrong.
show me the way and i will go -
i will go all the way back to the beginning,
back to when you put me here because choice -
mom, your choice -
was to put me here.
i never chose to be born,
and yet you chose to have me.
you chose to take your broken pieces
and mash them in with dad's old shards
and i am just a crack in the mirror,
seven years of bad luck and i have been trapped in the sixth year
for as long as i can even count
and mom -
you talk about choice and then ignore the one you made
to walk out on the children whose lives you gave.
you try to tell me happiness is a choice,
but mom, you're the only one
who has ever had
any of those.

he makes me feel like me but better

a very belated dream journal

last night i had a nightmare that woke me up at 7am in a cold sweat,
and all it was about was my dad telling me i had to go back to work for unigroup.

"you never finished the contract,"
and all that jazz.

i think i'm ready to be working again,
but i can't do it from a cubicle. not right now.

i want to be with people.
i want to have fun.

and i keep finding little triggers here and there,
adding to the list of shit i know i don't want to do,
while the "do" list stays blank.

i need to get writing.

about what?

when the ignorant become the righteous,
shallow people dig themselves
deep, deep graves.

oopsie

got a cheque in the mail from arbonne today... i reeeeeally haven't been active with it at all so i feel kinda bad. it's nice that i have clients who are continuing to shop with me but god damn it ahaha i probably should have been more involved in that whole thang... derp.

i also got a letter from ontario disability services acknowledging that my application was received on time, which is a relief. i have sort of mixed feelings about it though, truth be told. i've definitely improved since the beginning of the application process, to the point where i'm starting to feel like i could maybe start back into working or something soon. i dunno, there's a lot of guilt kinda stewing in me right now because on the one hand i'm sure there are people out there who need it more than i do, but at the same time i keep trying to tell myself that it's not like a contest or whatever, and the fact is that i do need help. even just the medical coverage would be so awesome because right now the medication i'm on is doing its job but it's upward of like $250 every month... and i'm lucky because my dad has no problem paying it but i know he can't afford it, even though he tries to lie about it. gah.

christmas is going to be less brutal than i thought, but still pretty tight. i told my dad that what i honestly want as a gift from him is money to buy my gifts for everyone else, ahaha. i know he doesn't like not having something under the tree for me, so i told him nice warm socks would be nice too. i have a list of gift ideas for everyone that i think ought to be manageable. i just really hope nobody goes crazy getting me something - looking at YOU, steph >:( - because i know i'm going to feel awful offering what meager gifts i can afford this year. if i'm smart though, i should be alright.

i've had two really bad knots in my back since this weekend. one is sort of above my left shoulderblade and the other is kind of at the top of my left buttock, ahahaha. no idea what i did. tried a new sleeping spot one night but i didn't notice any discomfort then? so i'm almost wondering if, upon returning to my usual sleep spot, that's what did it. who knows.

i've been feeling the itch to get writing again. steph's been plugging away with "haven" and it's been super awesome seeing her make progress with an idea she's sort of been nursing for years. it makes me wonder if i shouldn't maybe start applying myself more seriously to the ideas i've had in the past for different novels. so far, despite the fact that i do like some of the characters and storylines i've come up with, nothing's really striking me as something i really want to throw myself into right now. so maybe i'll try some short story work for now, sort of reboot my blog for that, and at least get the creative juices flowing.

anyway, holy moly, another real-life blog post! two in a row! ahaha that's unusual for me i guess. this one ended up being a lot longer than i intended, but i guess if i'm itching to write then any writing is good enough. goodnight!

WIP

this is going to be like an actual blog post about my life, so if you're here for poetry or vitriol or whatever, skip this one ahahaha

tldr;

i refuse to be friends with shitty people.

side b

i knew i shouldn't have looked.

i was born with a target in between my legs,
and no matter what i wanted, it grew -
spread across flesh like the new skin stretching
to fit in more places to shoot.
i was born with a target in between my legs,
and i suppose that means i was doomed from the start -
dead woman walking.
so many dead women were walking.
i grew into the targets on my breasts,
my legs, my ass, my hips,
my dignity.
i learned to flinch away from the gunshots
of strange men calling,
learned that "baby" and "sweetheart" and "honey"
were just bullets so silver
they somehow got away with it.
i know these things shine in the light,
but so do sharpened blades
and i would rather cut myself than be shot against my will.
i was born with a target in between my legs;
something that should be my own,
but which is constantly threatened:
"it should belong to us."
and the targets kept growing while i remained small -
too small to wrestle the gun out of unwanted hands,
and who can outrun bullets anyway?
every day the chamber is loaded with voices
and aimed at women who can't fight back.
i was born with a target in between my legs,
and it has spread across my body in ways that could be beautiful
if not for the things they attract.
i didn't ask to be hunted.
and though i stare in fear at the barrels pointed my way,
there is one thing that scares me more:
sometimes dodging bullets gets you killed faster
than letting yourself be shot.
a wounded hunter's ego,
prey betrayed by what they are.
i was born with a target in between my legs,
and i have feared for my life ever since.

side a

i have ruined more safe places
than most people find in their whole lives.