only the good die young,
and i've never been enough of that.
so i tried cheating my way into heaven,
but i guess that's why they sent me back.
10.12.2015
tayloren
i'm not typically the kind of person who struggles with words. for those of you who know me, you'll know that most of the time it is way harder to get me to shut up than it is to get me started. and it's not like loren didn't give me enough notice for this - loren's only been planning her wedding since we were, what, eight? i've only had like the majority of our lives together to figure out what i wanted to say to you today, which is why panic hit me like a freight train 25 days ago when i realized i didn't have anything written. and i had no idea where to start either - the beginning? well that'll take way too long. the end isn't here yet. and the stuff in the middle, i mean - to try and summarize that? it's impossible. so i kept trying to pick out these snapshots of what our friendship has been - what it's meant to me and what i hope it's meant to you... and there are so many stories i could tell, and one i know i'm not allowed to tell, but... there's one story, out of all of them, that refused to let me put it away. it's not a very long one - it's not even a very good one, but. this is the one. back in elementary school, you remember, we used to hang out on that playground in the back corner of your mom's complex - most days we stuck to the swings or the monkeybars - you knew not to trust me on the teeter-totter - but on this particular day, we decided we wanted to take turns trying to run up the slide. and of course you, being all of two feet tall, were having significantly more trouble than i was. so i'd successfully run up the slide a few times now, while you were still working on your first go of things, and on one run you juuust managed to hook your wee fingers over the top lip of that slide. and you're hanging there... like mufasa... and i'm standing there... like scar. and i peeled each of your little fingers off the lip of that slide, and i tossed you back down. and you FLEW - like, it was unreal the amount of air you got off the end of this slide - and you landed like five feet away, face down in the dirt. and you lifted your head up and you had all this muck packed in your upper lip, and you were crying, and i was crying... laughing. and we went back to your place, and you patched yourself up, and we called it a day and spent the rest of the evening inside. and not a week later, we were back out on that playground together. and we were on top of the monkey bars, and i slipped. and i bashed my two front teeth off the bar in front of me, and i'm bleeding and freaking out - and you jumped down to where i was. and we went back to your place, and you patched me up, and we called it a day and spent the rest of the evening inside. and if you're wondering why, out of all the stories i could have told, that was the one that wouldn't leave me alone? yeah. so was i. but i thought about it, and loren - you've always been there for me. even when i didn't return the favor. even when i didn't deserve it, which was often. you've always known how to take care of not just yourself, but everyone around you too. and i'm pretty sure that it's at this point in the speech that i'm supposed to make some sort of threat on your life, taylor, but instead, what i want to say is this: thank you. because there is no one else on this earth worthy of sitting where you are today. you two deserve each other. which is not something i say lightly. the way you two look at each other... is gross. and for the record, loren: i'm sorry i threw you down the slide, it won't happen again. but if it did? i'm glad you found someone who'd be there at the bottom to catch you.
8.30.2015
rest in
i'm so close to the edge
of falling in love with being alive,
and i hesitate, but in my defense
i don't know what it's like.
there's a voice in me
that lays me down
in the soft, familiar dark.
there's a choice for me
to make when i have time
to think of what it is i want -
it used to be peace,
but i don't know how i
can live with that.
of falling in love with being alive,
and i hesitate, but in my defense
i don't know what it's like.
there's a voice in me
that lays me down
in the soft, familiar dark.
there's a choice for me
to make when i have time
to think of what it is i want -
it used to be peace,
but i don't know how i
can live with that.
8.07.2015
8.02.2015
pride
it's hard enough to admit to fucking up,
nevermind fucking something up this bad,
but here it is:
i regret going to university.
and it sucks, because i had so many wonderful experiences because i did go,
but i can't shake this heavy feeling in my chest. i met extraordinary people,
had the privilege of higher education - how spoiled and selfish must i be
to say that i regret that?
but i do.
and there's guilt and there's shame and there's
so many feelings i don't know how to say,
but god - i used to know what i wanted.
theatre was my life. i was a drama kid all through high school,
my life revolved around this show, the next show,
any chance to get up on stage.
and the people i met at university?
they have no idea.
because i told myself that it was impractical,
as if any dream is ever logical,
and did what i thought i was supposed to.
i took the safe route, i thought.
five years out and i realize that this was never the safe route.
not for me.
because i don't know how to function without passion.
i don't know how to be okay with being something else.
who the fuck am i?
because when i was growing up,
i didn't have a single shred of doubt in my mind -
i was samantha hogan, and i was going to be an actress.
that's it, that's all. that simple.
and i know that there are so many people in the world who don't get to pursue their dreams.
people who have the same thoughts i did, about money and comfort and happiness.
but no, not happiness -
ease.
i've realized that i am not happy with what is easy.
or, more accurately, i'm not happy with what i thought was going to be easy,
because it turned out to be so hard i thought i couldn't survive it.
i tried to kill myself three times, doing what was "easy."
get a degree, get a job, be comfortable.
i don't fucking want to be comfortable. i don't fucking want what is easy -
i want to feel alive again, put my fucking soul into something,
god, i thought auditions were life and death.
i left my heart on the stage.
and i was right.
it was life or death.
all along, it was.
who the fuck am i?
i'm about to move into an apartment in the city,
and losing the commute will give me three extra hours per day.
and everyone keeps asking me:
"what will you do with all that spare time?"
and i have no fucking clue.
what do i do?
what do i like?
who. the fuck. am i.
and pride kept me going,
kept me struggling, self-destructing,
trying to tell myself that this was what i was supposed to do
for four fucking years.
my parents saved tuition money for me for my entire life,
and i used it all up and have nothing to show for it.
i used it all up on the wrong damn thing.
god, i wanna become someone else. if only for a moment -
just one scene.
and this time i'm not talking about a play.
wow, fuck. this is my life.
i left my heart on the stage.
nevermind fucking something up this bad,
but here it is:
i regret going to university.
and it sucks, because i had so many wonderful experiences because i did go,
but i can't shake this heavy feeling in my chest. i met extraordinary people,
had the privilege of higher education - how spoiled and selfish must i be
to say that i regret that?
but i do.
and there's guilt and there's shame and there's
so many feelings i don't know how to say,
but god - i used to know what i wanted.
theatre was my life. i was a drama kid all through high school,
my life revolved around this show, the next show,
any chance to get up on stage.
and the people i met at university?
they have no idea.
because i told myself that it was impractical,
as if any dream is ever logical,
and did what i thought i was supposed to.
i took the safe route, i thought.
five years out and i realize that this was never the safe route.
not for me.
because i don't know how to function without passion.
i don't know how to be okay with being something else.
who the fuck am i?
because when i was growing up,
i didn't have a single shred of doubt in my mind -
i was samantha hogan, and i was going to be an actress.
that's it, that's all. that simple.
and i know that there are so many people in the world who don't get to pursue their dreams.
people who have the same thoughts i did, about money and comfort and happiness.
but no, not happiness -
ease.
i've realized that i am not happy with what is easy.
or, more accurately, i'm not happy with what i thought was going to be easy,
because it turned out to be so hard i thought i couldn't survive it.
i tried to kill myself three times, doing what was "easy."
get a degree, get a job, be comfortable.
i don't fucking want to be comfortable. i don't fucking want what is easy -
i want to feel alive again, put my fucking soul into something,
god, i thought auditions were life and death.
i left my heart on the stage.
and i was right.
it was life or death.
all along, it was.
who the fuck am i?
i'm about to move into an apartment in the city,
and losing the commute will give me three extra hours per day.
and everyone keeps asking me:
"what will you do with all that spare time?"
and i have no fucking clue.
what do i do?
what do i like?
who. the fuck. am i.
and pride kept me going,
kept me struggling, self-destructing,
trying to tell myself that this was what i was supposed to do
for four fucking years.
my parents saved tuition money for me for my entire life,
and i used it all up and have nothing to show for it.
i used it all up on the wrong damn thing.
god, i wanna become someone else. if only for a moment -
just one scene.
and this time i'm not talking about a play.
wow, fuck. this is my life.
i left my heart on the stage.
7.31.2015
mcgrgr
they repaved the stretch of road that used to mark where you were gone,
and i guess it goes to show that life goes on.
but when i'm driving 'round the curve, my hands go tight around the wheel,
like they might know how it feels
to lose control.
it's getting hard to tell which tree it was that put you down to sleep;
there's new bark to make the impact not so deep.
and i wonder what it's like to never know what happened here,
never think of all the souls who held you dear
when you were whole.
and i guess it goes to show that life goes on.
but when i'm driving 'round the curve, my hands go tight around the wheel,
like they might know how it feels
to lose control.
it's getting hard to tell which tree it was that put you down to sleep;
there's new bark to make the impact not so deep.
and i wonder what it's like to never know what happened here,
never think of all the souls who held you dear
when you were whole.
7.28.2015
i won't hold my breath for next summer
i never have plans. i've told you before - i would need friends for that.
and i don't have friends.
especially not from back then.
which is why it's so disappointing that when someone out there does actually want to see me,
you won't allow me to have them here.
i'm not mad; it's your house and you were clear from the beginning.
to be honest, i didn't anticipate it being an issue -
i don't have friends.
well, maybe one. but i've got no place to house her,
so how can i possibly ask her to still make that trip?
for me.
and i'll have a place soon, yeah -
when summertime is over, and the opportunity has passed.
i suppose there's always next year.
but in all honesty, i'm just not sure
that i can go that long without some shred of contact that will keep us connected.
how long can you go not seeing someone, declining offers to change that,
before your chances run out?
i'll bet not much, for me.
i'm not mad; there's nothing i can do.
it is what it is, and all that.
i was surprised, this year,
to find that people still thought of me.
a year from now, though, next summer -
no surprises then, i bet.
where i thought i'd be this year,
just one year too late.
and i don't have friends.
especially not from back then.
which is why it's so disappointing that when someone out there does actually want to see me,
you won't allow me to have them here.
i'm not mad; it's your house and you were clear from the beginning.
to be honest, i didn't anticipate it being an issue -
i don't have friends.
well, maybe one. but i've got no place to house her,
so how can i possibly ask her to still make that trip?
for me.
and i'll have a place soon, yeah -
when summertime is over, and the opportunity has passed.
i suppose there's always next year.
but in all honesty, i'm just not sure
that i can go that long without some shred of contact that will keep us connected.
how long can you go not seeing someone, declining offers to change that,
before your chances run out?
i'll bet not much, for me.
i'm not mad; there's nothing i can do.
it is what it is, and all that.
i was surprised, this year,
to find that people still thought of me.
a year from now, though, next summer -
no surprises then, i bet.
where i thought i'd be this year,
just one year too late.
6.05.2015
as if a sweater could've made it better
last night i dreamt that you felt the need to publicly recount
that i'd been fully-dressed when you found my body -
as if, somehow, being clothed when i overdosed meant less
than dying as naked as the day i was born.
that i'd been fully-dressed when you found my body -
as if, somehow, being clothed when i overdosed meant less
than dying as naked as the day i was born.
5.31.2015
when the number of days listed was up in the air
i keep lists.
things i need to do, should do, want to do, might do. things i won't.
i don't always know which kind of list the list is going to be until after i've listed it,
and then it usually makes itself clear.
a big indicator is whether or not i actually finish the list,
because really, that should be the number one thing on the list.
these days i don't cross out much.
the idea is to cross things off the list once you've completed them,
but i've been having trouble starting because most of the things i list
require me to get out of bed,
and that really doesn't take into account the fact that i can't.
i tried to make a list of reasons for that, but it turned out to be one of the lists i never finish.
it feels strange staring at a blank piece of paper where before i might've scrawled down plans,
or at least plans to make plans.
feels almost like i'm out of my head,
but the problem is that i'm actually so completely in my head -
i know all the same things i need to write down,
but for some reason they're all out of order, all too faint to make out,
like a thought just out of reach and i'm too exhausted to keep holding out for it, so i go to bed.
i'm the kind of person who sleeps when i have nothing to do,
and i have plenty to do right now, but i can't seem to work it out,
get it down on paper, get it out of my head, i'm stuck,
and i'm afraid of being this way, so i go to sleep.
people ask me why i can't seem to do any of the things i need to do
and i want to tell them that it's because of this, this, and this
but i'm staring at blank lists like it's all i've ever known,
there is nothing here to cross out except for my name at the top of the sheet -
i would rather have a 100-item to-do list than than this overwhelming opening for anything
because i don't even know where to start, so anything turns to nothing.
i've started to list my flaws in the hopes of crossing those out,
but i'm realizing that i can't make these go away,
so maybe i should have made a list of all my strengths that are already gone.
i am too weak to lift a pen.
i have done nothing forever, but everyone keeps telling me i'm trying to do too much,
i'm complicating things, so let's simplify:
i have two lists.
one says, "get better," and the other says, "kill yourself,"
and i KNOW which one sounds less daunting to me.
i don't even know where to begin with the first list,
but i know step for step, pill for pill, gram for gram, the second -
and i just find it infuriating that the one thing i feel i can do,
the one item i could stand to complete
means that if i do, i won't be here to cross it out.
and i am sorry for all these unfinished lists, all these scraps of paper everywhere,
i used to be so organized,
and i'm afraid to get rid of any of these now because i lost track
of how much of this is me and how much of this is my depression
and i am so afraid of finding out that there is no difference.
i stare at the words "get better" and know that i am afraid of trying
because i've been stuck here for so long that "depression" is number one on all the lists of who i am.
i have to keep these lists because i keep forgetting who i am:
i call myself a person who keeps lists and yet i stand here with none
and i guess it's just because i have NO IDEA where to start,
but i know exactly how to end.
things i need to do, should do, want to do, might do. things i won't.
i don't always know which kind of list the list is going to be until after i've listed it,
and then it usually makes itself clear.
a big indicator is whether or not i actually finish the list,
because really, that should be the number one thing on the list.
these days i don't cross out much.
the idea is to cross things off the list once you've completed them,
but i've been having trouble starting because most of the things i list
require me to get out of bed,
and that really doesn't take into account the fact that i can't.
i tried to make a list of reasons for that, but it turned out to be one of the lists i never finish.
it feels strange staring at a blank piece of paper where before i might've scrawled down plans,
or at least plans to make plans.
feels almost like i'm out of my head,
but the problem is that i'm actually so completely in my head -
i know all the same things i need to write down,
but for some reason they're all out of order, all too faint to make out,
like a thought just out of reach and i'm too exhausted to keep holding out for it, so i go to bed.
i'm the kind of person who sleeps when i have nothing to do,
and i have plenty to do right now, but i can't seem to work it out,
get it down on paper, get it out of my head, i'm stuck,
and i'm afraid of being this way, so i go to sleep.
people ask me why i can't seem to do any of the things i need to do
and i want to tell them that it's because of this, this, and this
but i'm staring at blank lists like it's all i've ever known,
there is nothing here to cross out except for my name at the top of the sheet -
i would rather have a 100-item to-do list than than this overwhelming opening for anything
because i don't even know where to start, so anything turns to nothing.
i've started to list my flaws in the hopes of crossing those out,
but i'm realizing that i can't make these go away,
so maybe i should have made a list of all my strengths that are already gone.
i am too weak to lift a pen.
i have done nothing forever, but everyone keeps telling me i'm trying to do too much,
i'm complicating things, so let's simplify:
i have two lists.
one says, "get better," and the other says, "kill yourself,"
and i KNOW which one sounds less daunting to me.
i don't even know where to begin with the first list,
but i know step for step, pill for pill, gram for gram, the second -
and i just find it infuriating that the one thing i feel i can do,
the one item i could stand to complete
means that if i do, i won't be here to cross it out.
and i am sorry for all these unfinished lists, all these scraps of paper everywhere,
i used to be so organized,
and i'm afraid to get rid of any of these now because i lost track
of how much of this is me and how much of this is my depression
and i am so afraid of finding out that there is no difference.
i stare at the words "get better" and know that i am afraid of trying
because i've been stuck here for so long that "depression" is number one on all the lists of who i am.
i have to keep these lists because i keep forgetting who i am:
i call myself a person who keeps lists and yet i stand here with none
and i guess it's just because i have NO IDEA where to start,
but i know exactly how to end.
5.19.2015
"he'd sent me flowers,
and i remember sitting on the floor holding them
and i couldn't stop crying because they were alive
and he wasn't, and it just didn't make any sense."
and i couldn't stop crying because they were alive
and he wasn't, and it just didn't make any sense."
5.16.2015
4.26.2015
where i live
whose flesh is this?
it's clinging to my bones,
but that can't be right.
excuse me, i can't dismiss
this shady patchwork sewn
in a skin too tight.
so dissect me, if you will;
watch my borrowed insides spill and stain.
i can hold the body still -
we can map the meat from mountain to vein.
i'm as lost as you are here.
it's clinging to my bones,
but that can't be right.
excuse me, i can't dismiss
this shady patchwork sewn
in a skin too tight.
so dissect me, if you will;
watch my borrowed insides spill and stain.
i can hold the body still -
we can map the meat from mountain to vein.
i'm as lost as you are here.
4.20.2015
intensive care
i wish i had never woken up
and never come home
and never gotten better
and never met you
and never tried so hard
and never fell so fast
and never never never never
NEVER loved you.
i wish i had never woken up,
because then i would never have to know
that you will never never never never
NEVER
love me back.
and never come home
and never gotten better
and never met you
and never tried so hard
and never fell so fast
and never never never never
NEVER loved you.
i wish i had never woken up,
because then i would never have to know
that you will never never never never
NEVER
love me back.
4.08.2015
SORT YER SHIT:
friday, april 10th:
- in-car driving lesson 9am - 11am
- go bus, subway, bus... (brampton - toronto)
- pure + simple head office meeting/training 3pm
- eric's overnight
saturday, april 11th:
- bus, subway, train... (toronto - oakville)
- hair dye/hang out with sammi
- dinner with mom
- mom drives me home (oakville - brampton)
sunday, april 12th:
- in-class driving lesson + final written test 9am - 2:30pm
monday, april 13th:
- CHILL THE FUCK OUT
tuesday, april 14th:
- appointment with dr. snape 2:30pm
- go bus, subway, bus... (brampton - toronto)
- eric's overnight
wednesday, april 15th:
- pure + simple king location training 10:30am
- in-car driving lesson 9am - 11am
- go bus, subway, bus... (brampton - toronto)
- pure + simple head office meeting/training 3pm
- eric's overnight
saturday, april 11th:
- bus, subway, train... (toronto - oakville)
- hair dye/hang out with sammi
- dinner with mom
- mom drives me home (oakville - brampton)
sunday, april 12th:
- in-class driving lesson + final written test 9am - 2:30pm
monday, april 13th:
- CHILL THE FUCK OUT
tuesday, april 14th:
- appointment with dr. snape 2:30pm
- go bus, subway, bus... (brampton - toronto)
- eric's overnight
wednesday, april 15th:
- pure + simple king location training 10:30am
3.29.2015
like i ever held a gun
i've never been good at walking on eggshells,
never been good at putting out fires.
i never did listen to the warning bells,
to the caution and care that i guess it inspires.
i'd never been taught to go biting my tongue,
never learned how to think my words through.
i never was much except honest and dumb,
and i'll never go changing for you.
never been good at putting out fires.
i never did listen to the warning bells,
to the caution and care that i guess it inspires.
i'd never been taught to go biting my tongue,
never learned how to think my words through.
i never was much except honest and dumb,
and i'll never go changing for you.
3.15.2015
but like everything i've ever known, you'll disappear one day
so i'll spend my whole life hiding my heart away.
3.14.2015
the old lyrics you always come back to, you never forget
you're waiting for a call
that you know won't come.
just when you think you've seen it all,
something bends you to break.
and if you fall for it the first time,
then you're not so dumb -
but you've been in this place before,
and you can't call that a mistake.
you saw it coming.
you knew it would.
could have kept running,
like you told yourself you should.
you've been in this situation
and you know the fucking ending,
it's a definite equation,
so why the fuck are you pretending
that someone that you love
could ever see that in you?
this story fits you like a glove,
and you can cry but it's still true.
that you know won't come.
just when you think you've seen it all,
something bends you to break.
and if you fall for it the first time,
then you're not so dumb -
but you've been in this place before,
and you can't call that a mistake.
you saw it coming.
you knew it would.
could have kept running,
like you told yourself you should.
you've been in this situation
and you know the fucking ending,
it's a definite equation,
so why the fuck are you pretending
that someone that you love
could ever see that in you?
this story fits you like a glove,
and you can cry but it's still true.
3.11.2015
2.28.2015
there is a tiny person living inside my head
and she is a vicious feminist, ahahahahaha.
like, to the point that i sometimes wonder whether or not she might be weakening my ability to see and accept things as they are.
for example:
i seem to have a tendency to overreact when the boyfriend and i disagree on something. i'm just too quick to anger, i guess, which sucks. it means i usually end up saying or doing something that takes it too far, followed by a swift & sturdy guilt trip, a dash of fear, and then ultimately i end up having to swallow my pride & apologize/explain myself. it's just absolute garbage, ahaha. i wish i could turn it off.
now i've never really thought of myself as a girl, in the sense of belonging to the group, "girls." does that make sense? like i identify individually as a girl, but i've never included myself in the picture when referring to "girls" in general.
i think this can be both helpful and problematic; helpful because i think it gives me a decent idea of the outside picture of "girls" in general, but by not including myself in the mix i think it skews my opinion of "girls" into the negative.
i wonder if girls (myself included this time) really are programmed to be more emotional than boys?
are we somehow designed to be more critical of one another than boys are?
see, this is where the tiny feminist gets involved, because she wants to argue that no, gender is learned, it's nurture over nature, etc. the thing is, though, i think her opinion is more what i want to believe than what i actually believe.
is any of this making sense?!
i do believe that men and women are biologically different, and i think there's enough evidence out there to confirm it. so why do i get my back up any time my boyfriend or someone tries to tell me that girls are naturally more emotional than boys?
to be honest, i agree - i do think that girls experience more sympathetic emotions due to different hormones and chemicals in their brain compared to men. but this explanation does not seem to appease the tiny feminist in my head, so i'm not sure how to proceed.
i guess really what it shows is that even though i do consider myself a feminist, even my own personal experience and subsequent subconscious opinion is that of "alpha male" and "omega female." being emotional or gossipy or whatever seem to be considered inherently "female" things, and because of that assumption, i tend to want to fight it. even as a feminist, i subconsciously view these "female" attributes as somehow being negative, or lesser.
not to mention the complete dissociation i often feel with my own gender group, placing myself as "other." and yet, i think a lot of girls do this.
"i'm not like other girls."
why not? what's wrong with being like other girls?
i suppose nobody wants to think that they're just like everyone else.
special snowflakes, the lot of us. i guess it's just a matter of individuality vs. belonging.
anyway, the point of this post was that sometimes i think about how men and women might experience two different and separate consciousnesses. though my tiny feminist and i would love to believe that the flesh doesn't affect the mind, i feel as though that's writing off a whole lotta biological programming, ahahaha.
in some ways, i probably am "just like other girls." and if my tiny feminist got what she wanted, my knee-jerk reaction to that wouldn't be as negative as it is...
strange.
how much of what we do is predestined because of the chemicals in our bodies?
i'd like to believe that "anatomy is destiny" is total bullshit, but sometimes that seems too simple.
sorry, tiny feminist.
like, to the point that i sometimes wonder whether or not she might be weakening my ability to see and accept things as they are.
for example:
i seem to have a tendency to overreact when the boyfriend and i disagree on something. i'm just too quick to anger, i guess, which sucks. it means i usually end up saying or doing something that takes it too far, followed by a swift & sturdy guilt trip, a dash of fear, and then ultimately i end up having to swallow my pride & apologize/explain myself. it's just absolute garbage, ahaha. i wish i could turn it off.
now i've never really thought of myself as a girl, in the sense of belonging to the group, "girls." does that make sense? like i identify individually as a girl, but i've never included myself in the picture when referring to "girls" in general.
i think this can be both helpful and problematic; helpful because i think it gives me a decent idea of the outside picture of "girls" in general, but by not including myself in the mix i think it skews my opinion of "girls" into the negative.
i wonder if girls (myself included this time) really are programmed to be more emotional than boys?
are we somehow designed to be more critical of one another than boys are?
see, this is where the tiny feminist gets involved, because she wants to argue that no, gender is learned, it's nurture over nature, etc. the thing is, though, i think her opinion is more what i want to believe than what i actually believe.
is any of this making sense?!
i do believe that men and women are biologically different, and i think there's enough evidence out there to confirm it. so why do i get my back up any time my boyfriend or someone tries to tell me that girls are naturally more emotional than boys?
to be honest, i agree - i do think that girls experience more sympathetic emotions due to different hormones and chemicals in their brain compared to men. but this explanation does not seem to appease the tiny feminist in my head, so i'm not sure how to proceed.
i guess really what it shows is that even though i do consider myself a feminist, even my own personal experience and subsequent subconscious opinion is that of "alpha male" and "omega female." being emotional or gossipy or whatever seem to be considered inherently "female" things, and because of that assumption, i tend to want to fight it. even as a feminist, i subconsciously view these "female" attributes as somehow being negative, or lesser.
not to mention the complete dissociation i often feel with my own gender group, placing myself as "other." and yet, i think a lot of girls do this.
"i'm not like other girls."
why not? what's wrong with being like other girls?
i suppose nobody wants to think that they're just like everyone else.
special snowflakes, the lot of us. i guess it's just a matter of individuality vs. belonging.
anyway, the point of this post was that sometimes i think about how men and women might experience two different and separate consciousnesses. though my tiny feminist and i would love to believe that the flesh doesn't affect the mind, i feel as though that's writing off a whole lotta biological programming, ahahaha.
in some ways, i probably am "just like other girls." and if my tiny feminist got what she wanted, my knee-jerk reaction to that wouldn't be as negative as it is...
strange.
how much of what we do is predestined because of the chemicals in our bodies?
i'd like to believe that "anatomy is destiny" is total bullshit, but sometimes that seems too simple.
sorry, tiny feminist.
2.20.2015
2.09.2015
2.06.2015
wiping spit from my mouth
so,
you don't think it should be called,
"feminism,"
because it makes it sound
like it's just for women...
okay.
oh, you believe in gender equality -
of course you do, it's 2015!
it's just that... you wouldn't necessarily go so far
as to call yourself a feminist,
per se, because:
1. uhhhhh...
2. well...
3. uhhhhh...
compelling.
why can't we call ourselves
equalists? humanists? or,
the actual word that already exists for the word you're looking for,
which none of you seem to have in your vocabulary,
which is
egalitarian.
(write it down.
i'll wait.)
now,
sit back, relax, and allow me to tell you
a thing.
you
are a feminist.
you
believe that women's rights should be the same as men's rights.
you
believe that women can wear trousers if they so desire,
but you
are deeply uncomfortable
with the idea of a man
in a dress.
you see,
you grew up to be strong and masculine,
and that's why you're afraid that a word containing "fem" -
implying female -
might shatter your fragile sense of who you are as a person
and how you're perceived in the world around you.
no, i understand!
it's the same reason that growing up, you were going to be a doctor!
and even though your little sister's grades blew yours out of the water in math and science,
she was gonna be a nurse!
the same reason that
boys couldn't be ballerinas, play with barbies, wear pink,
or of course cry!
bottling up your emotions until they fester inside you like a pussing infection,
slowly destroying you from the inside out,
crippling your ability to communicate, relate,
and be intimate with other human beings.
hoo!
you're a man's man!
same reason you heard the word "feminist"
and went, "pfff! women's rights!"
without actually bothering to learn about the movement
and everything it fights for to better the lives of both men and women.
even though you'll spend hours online learning about sports statistics,
because uh... you were told they were important?
what else are you going to talk about?
not that you only ever talk about sports, of course,
you also talk about how much you hate it
that men are expected to hold open doors for women,
and men have to make the first move,
and men have to pay for dinner,
despite the fact that you feel completely immasculated
when women actually do these things instead of you...
who needs feminism?!
we need MENINISM!
because NOT ALL MEN rape!
but every women who gets raped must have been asking for it,
RIGHT?
let me know when you're ready to join the conversation
as more than what you were told your genitals made you out to be.
let me know when you stop being afraid.
this
is how a broken social structure
fails both men and women.
this
is why men are growing up isolated
and women are growing up angry.
this
is where i want you to stand
when you are finally comfortable enough to call yourself
both a man and a feminist.
because that
is the moment you can tell me we don't need feminism anymore.
you don't think it should be called,
"feminism,"
because it makes it sound
like it's just for women...
okay.
oh, you believe in gender equality -
of course you do, it's 2015!
it's just that... you wouldn't necessarily go so far
as to call yourself a feminist,
per se, because:
1. uhhhhh...
2. well...
3. uhhhhh...
compelling.
why can't we call ourselves
equalists? humanists? or,
the actual word that already exists for the word you're looking for,
which none of you seem to have in your vocabulary,
which is
egalitarian.
(write it down.
i'll wait.)
now,
sit back, relax, and allow me to tell you
a thing.
you
are a feminist.
you
believe that women's rights should be the same as men's rights.
you
believe that women can wear trousers if they so desire,
but you
are deeply uncomfortable
with the idea of a man
in a dress.
you see,
you grew up to be strong and masculine,
and that's why you're afraid that a word containing "fem" -
implying female -
might shatter your fragile sense of who you are as a person
and how you're perceived in the world around you.
no, i understand!
it's the same reason that growing up, you were going to be a doctor!
and even though your little sister's grades blew yours out of the water in math and science,
she was gonna be a nurse!
the same reason that
boys couldn't be ballerinas, play with barbies, wear pink,
or of course cry!
bottling up your emotions until they fester inside you like a pussing infection,
slowly destroying you from the inside out,
crippling your ability to communicate, relate,
and be intimate with other human beings.
hoo!
you're a man's man!
same reason you heard the word "feminist"
and went, "pfff! women's rights!"
without actually bothering to learn about the movement
and everything it fights for to better the lives of both men and women.
even though you'll spend hours online learning about sports statistics,
because uh... you were told they were important?
what else are you going to talk about?
not that you only ever talk about sports, of course,
you also talk about how much you hate it
that men are expected to hold open doors for women,
and men have to make the first move,
and men have to pay for dinner,
despite the fact that you feel completely immasculated
when women actually do these things instead of you...
who needs feminism?!
we need MENINISM!
because NOT ALL MEN rape!
but every women who gets raped must have been asking for it,
RIGHT?
let me know when you're ready to join the conversation
as more than what you were told your genitals made you out to be.
let me know when you stop being afraid.
this
is how a broken social structure
fails both men and women.
this
is why men are growing up isolated
and women are growing up angry.
this
is where i want you to stand
when you are finally comfortable enough to call yourself
both a man and a feminist.
because that
is the moment you can tell me we don't need feminism anymore.
expanded
i wake to the sound of a just-lit match;
burning like fire, falling like a wave.
pulled under by a current so thick, i could float if i wanted to try.
and as i surface in the break of the surf,
i hear the call:
shhhhhhhhhh.
i wake to the sound of a just-lit match;
big enough to swim in, but not enough to drown.
there is a fire in me that i meant to smother,
could have kicked the sand to kill it,
but i swear my ocean was here a minute ago.
i can't watch this turn to embers,
that slow burn will kill me and i know that's the point, but -
if i could just wash it all away, like i was never here.
wipe things clean with all the salt water tears
i will no longer cry.
i don't want to leave ashes for someone to find but -
but the tide recedes and i fade back
into the room.
i am surrounded by the whirring and whistling
of being alive in spite of myself -
i'm told i've been out for days
and maybe my disappointment shows
because the nurse can't look me in the eye.
and my father
walks into the room like a cold wind off the coast,
not the kind that brings storms, no.
the kind that sounds like ghosts, whistling, low,
and i think of the drowned.
i'm sorry i couldn't be there.
instead i'm kept afloat by
tubes, force-feeding life into my blood
because i'm not allowed to eat yet;
there is charcoal in my stomach
and i wonder how many people know.
there is charcoal in my stomach,
on my hands, in my eyes,
ashes to ashes, dust to dust, and
i am tired of mattering.
i search for the call -
but it's gone.
and i'm not.
places like these tease,
trick your senses into crying out
how close you might have been.
when everything tastes like, smells like, looks like, feels like,
sounds like nothing.
this is as close as i've ever come.
i am tangled in a lifeline i never asked to be thrown,
no, please,
send me your anchors.
how can i bear this weight
and still not sink?
i am holding no breath.
folding my lungs into sailboats
scrawled with a message you can bottle
or burn, for what it's worth.
there's a hole in the bottom of the sea.
and i chase the call,
blind to your flares - their flames unwanted -
as i search for the sound of a just-lit match:
big enough to swim in,
but not enough to drown.
burning like fire, falling like a wave.
pulled under by a current so thick, i could float if i wanted to try.
and as i surface in the break of the surf,
i hear the call:
shhhhhhhhhh.
i wake to the sound of a just-lit match;
big enough to swim in, but not enough to drown.
there is a fire in me that i meant to smother,
could have kicked the sand to kill it,
but i swear my ocean was here a minute ago.
i can't watch this turn to embers,
that slow burn will kill me and i know that's the point, but -
if i could just wash it all away, like i was never here.
wipe things clean with all the salt water tears
i will no longer cry.
i don't want to leave ashes for someone to find but -
but the tide recedes and i fade back
into the room.
i am surrounded by the whirring and whistling
of being alive in spite of myself -
i'm told i've been out for days
and maybe my disappointment shows
because the nurse can't look me in the eye.
and my father
walks into the room like a cold wind off the coast,
not the kind that brings storms, no.
the kind that sounds like ghosts, whistling, low,
and i think of the drowned.
i'm sorry i couldn't be there.
instead i'm kept afloat by
tubes, force-feeding life into my blood
because i'm not allowed to eat yet;
there is charcoal in my stomach
and i wonder how many people know.
there is charcoal in my stomach,
on my hands, in my eyes,
ashes to ashes, dust to dust, and
i am tired of mattering.
i search for the call -
but it's gone.
and i'm not.
places like these tease,
trick your senses into crying out
how close you might have been.
when everything tastes like, smells like, looks like, feels like,
sounds like nothing.
this is as close as i've ever come.
i am tangled in a lifeline i never asked to be thrown,
no, please,
send me your anchors.
how can i bear this weight
and still not sink?
i am holding no breath.
folding my lungs into sailboats
scrawled with a message you can bottle
or burn, for what it's worth.
there's a hole in the bottom of the sea.
and i chase the call,
blind to your flares - their flames unwanted -
as i search for the sound of a just-lit match:
big enough to swim in,
but not enough to drown.
2.02.2015
wreck of a life
it's been
23 years of a car crash in slow motion,
high definition looping on repeat
until you have it memorized.
i have seen this coming for longer
than i have the words to say.
it started with the words i knew:
a first grade vocabulary screaming out,
"i," and "hate," and "you,"
to the girl in the bathroom with the puffed-up eyes,
locked behind a door that her mother keeps pounding on,
begging me to stop hurting the little girl
in the mirror.
i used to hide in small places
and when i was found, cried,
"i wish i had never been born,"
perhaps where other children
might have had other words.
now i hide in small places
and when i am found, cry
because i still don't have other words.
i could pinpoint the instant i knew this car would crash,
and every moment after drowned out in the feeling
of letting all the air out of your lungs and being too tired
to breathe more back in, of
this idea of getting better, being
somehow restored to right when i have only ever been left
staring down the tunnel toward a sleep less small.
only the good die young,
and i have never been enough
of that.
i have never been anything
but a loose-limbed driver behind the wheel of a thrice-flipped car,
celebrating under confetti glass shards, soundless
in anticipation -
no words now.
no words ever again.
23 years of a car crash in slow motion,
high definition looping on repeat
until you have it memorized.
i have seen this coming for longer
than i have the words to say.
it started with the words i knew:
a first grade vocabulary screaming out,
"i," and "hate," and "you,"
to the girl in the bathroom with the puffed-up eyes,
locked behind a door that her mother keeps pounding on,
begging me to stop hurting the little girl
in the mirror.
i used to hide in small places
and when i was found, cried,
"i wish i had never been born,"
perhaps where other children
might have had other words.
now i hide in small places
and when i am found, cry
because i still don't have other words.
i could pinpoint the instant i knew this car would crash,
and every moment after drowned out in the feeling
of letting all the air out of your lungs and being too tired
to breathe more back in, of
this idea of getting better, being
somehow restored to right when i have only ever been left
staring down the tunnel toward a sleep less small.
only the good die young,
and i have never been enough
of that.
i have never been anything
but a loose-limbed driver behind the wheel of a thrice-flipped car,
celebrating under confetti glass shards, soundless
in anticipation -
no words now.
no words ever again.
1.26.2015
horny poetry
i have absolutely no excuse for this jesus christ i am a mess of a human being honestly this is exactly what it sounds like shut up
1.21.2015
siblings (meagre sympathy)
you think you're angry,
but i know you're sad
and you're scared that it's gonna show through.
and if you choose to hate me,
it isn't so bad,
'cause you can't hate me more than i do.
you'll never believe me, it's part of the plan -
your heart is a child with the fists of a man
and you'll fight back forgiveness while i sit and shake,
born of all the same blood, plus a tired old ache.
we're afraid of the same damn thing.
but i'm tired of the fighting,
you're tired of the peace,
so you're hunting revenge
while i'm hunting release.
so i'll say it to kill ya,
and you'll challenge my bluff -
maybe mum never loved us enough.
i think i'm stable,
but you know i'm lit
like a matchstick approaching the fuse.
but i'm well and i'm able,
i'm finally fit
to take all of your hard-earned abuse.
you'll never believe me, it's how this all goes -
one burns into nothing, the other just knows
and you'll choose every blindness while i can't look away,
dragged through all the same mud, but with sorries to say.
we're afraid of the same damn thing.
but i'm tired of the fighting,
you're tired of the peace,
so you're hunting revenge
while i'm hunting release.
so i'll say it to kill ya,
and you'll challenge my bluff -
maybe mum never loved us enough.
maybe mum never loved us enough.
but i know you're sad
and you're scared that it's gonna show through.
and if you choose to hate me,
it isn't so bad,
'cause you can't hate me more than i do.
you'll never believe me, it's part of the plan -
your heart is a child with the fists of a man
and you'll fight back forgiveness while i sit and shake,
born of all the same blood, plus a tired old ache.
we're afraid of the same damn thing.
but i'm tired of the fighting,
you're tired of the peace,
so you're hunting revenge
while i'm hunting release.
so i'll say it to kill ya,
and you'll challenge my bluff -
maybe mum never loved us enough.
i think i'm stable,
but you know i'm lit
like a matchstick approaching the fuse.
but i'm well and i'm able,
i'm finally fit
to take all of your hard-earned abuse.
you'll never believe me, it's how this all goes -
one burns into nothing, the other just knows
and you'll choose every blindness while i can't look away,
dragged through all the same mud, but with sorries to say.
we're afraid of the same damn thing.
but i'm tired of the fighting,
you're tired of the peace,
so you're hunting revenge
while i'm hunting release.
so i'll say it to kill ya,
and you'll challenge my bluff -
maybe mum never loved us enough.
maybe mum never loved us enough.
1.07.2015
je suis charlie
"oh my god," i say in vain,
while others whisper it in prayer,
reacting to such senseless pain
unleashed on those no longer there.
and still, these names, they roll with ease
off tongues of those who'd do them ill;
of those who'd rise from on their knees
and, citing god, who'd stand and kill.
i do not know what i believe -
no book or hymn's been written yet
to paint a god i might perceive
as worth the wasted life we get.
and those who injure, wound and maim
have critically misunderstood
the use of a religious name
more powerfully used for good.
i wonder what our world might find,
with "god" and "good" one round apart,
with rage and rampage purged from mind,
with hatred healed from every heart.
while others whisper it in prayer,
reacting to such senseless pain
unleashed on those no longer there.
and still, these names, they roll with ease
off tongues of those who'd do them ill;
of those who'd rise from on their knees
and, citing god, who'd stand and kill.
i do not know what i believe -
no book or hymn's been written yet
to paint a god i might perceive
as worth the wasted life we get.
and those who injure, wound and maim
have critically misunderstood
the use of a religious name
more powerfully used for good.
i wonder what our world might find,
with "god" and "good" one round apart,
with rage and rampage purged from mind,
with hatred healed from every heart.
1.05.2015
an old poem i just found:
when i wake up, there is a sound like a just-lit match;
big enough to swim in, but not enough to drown.
i am surrounded by the whirring and whistling
of being alive in spite of myself.
i am tangled in a lifeline i never asked to be thrown -
send me your anchors.
i'm ignoring your flares, their flames unwanted
as i search for the sound of a just-lit match -
this life is an ocean;
big enough to swim in, but not enough to drown.
big enough to swim in, but not enough to drown.
i am surrounded by the whirring and whistling
of being alive in spite of myself.
i am tangled in a lifeline i never asked to be thrown -
send me your anchors.
i'm ignoring your flares, their flames unwanted
as i search for the sound of a just-lit match -
this life is an ocean;
big enough to swim in, but not enough to drown.
1.03.2015
1.02.2015
hitchens
the tricky part is this:
nobody cares if you're right while you're alive,
you have to die for that to matter.
but everyone cares if you're wrong while you're alive.
and i thank god that once you die,
nobody will ever have any reason to even speak your name
because we'll all finally be done trying to tell you
how fucking wrong you are.
(like talking to a pompous, unduly self-righteous, ignorant brick wall.)
how strange a thought:
i am so glad that i'm younger than you
so that i will exist in the world on the day that you die
and bear witness to your instantaneous irrelevance.
ah, the luxury
of watching people cease to be.
nobody cares if you're right while you're alive,
you have to die for that to matter.
but everyone cares if you're wrong while you're alive.
and i thank god that once you die,
nobody will ever have any reason to even speak your name
because we'll all finally be done trying to tell you
how fucking wrong you are.
(like talking to a pompous, unduly self-righteous, ignorant brick wall.)
how strange a thought:
i am so glad that i'm younger than you
so that i will exist in the world on the day that you die
and bear witness to your instantaneous irrelevance.
ah, the luxury
of watching people cease to be.
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