"i do."

he was born angry and she was raised mad,

and they fell in so hard, in so fast.

and isn't it shameful, now isn't it sad?

two lovers too hateful never could last.

if i had succeeded

if i had succeeded,
i wouldn't be here right now.
working a minimum wage office job,
9 - 5 every summer.

if i had succeeded,
i wouldn't have given up acting.
i wouldn't have given up volleyball, soccer, rugby.
i wouldn't have changed.

if i had succeeded,
maybe things wouldn't have gotten so bad,
and my mother would still love me.
maybe. maybe. maybe.

if i had succeeded,
i wouldn't have lost old friends.
but if i had succeeded,
i wouldn't have gained new ones.


if i had succeeded,
i wouldn't have gone blonde.
i wouldn't have gotten my tattoos.
i wouldn't ever have liked myself.


if i had succeeded,
i wouldn't have finished high school.
i wouldn't have been elected valedictorian,
i wouldn't have given that speech.

if i had succeeded,
i never would have gone to university.
i never would have seen the atlantic.
i never would have missed the cold.

if i had succeeded,
i wouldn't have lost old friends,
because if i had succeeded,
they would have lost me.

why some children stop loving when they become adults

there is no such thing as "mothers" in my home.
none of us are born; we just begin to be,
raised by fathers who are still just children themselves.

there is no such thing as "mothers" here,
only sons and daughters and brothers and sisters
and siblings and fathers and the ghost of a husband.

there is no such thing as "mothers",
only questions left unanswered and roles left unfulfilled
and the quiet voice that tells you it will always end like this -

self preservation:
"never again."

the novelist

maybe:
if i could write the right words,
if i could read the right lines,
if i could feel the right way,
i could stop.

alas,
i cannot.

i can't wait to get my hair done tomorrow,
and then next week i'm getting my nails done with a girl from my work,
and then things will be better.

i want this boy to stop texting me.
bitch i leave in two weeks, i don't have time to listen to you trying to kiss my ass because you fucked up while drunk.
trust me - i care a lot less about your mistakes
than you do.

(i ain't even mad bro.)

i keep having dreams where it's been three weeks into school and i haven't been to a single class.
i always wake up in a cold sweat.

motivation.

when school starts i'd like to

• establish a workout routine
• plan good meals
• arrange my room to my liking
• attend all my classes
• be diligent with reading, studying, and working
• buy nice wines to treat myself on nights in
• become really good friends with myself

i think that last one has a lot more involved;

i'd like to be quieter, i think. i'd like to regain some of the intellect i think i've maybe lost in the process of focusing so heavily on being out there and involved.

really, i wish i was mysterious.

i think maybe if i manage to keep things running okay with school this year i might audition for a play.

it might be nice just playing a chorus role or something if i can get it,

just doing something to feel like i'm not just scraping along.

then again, that seems sort of contradictory.

we'll see.

mostly i think i just want to start feeling like other people think i'm as "grown up" as i feel, which in and of itself is a completely adolescent thought process, ahaha.

i'd also like a taste of not scaring people off, for once.

one of my best friends told me that when she first met me she thought i was absolutely crazy.

i'd like to change that first impression.

two weeks.

two weeks.

two weeks.

you ruined them for me

"peonies were my favourite flower,
antlers were my favourite bone.
you once said i had the power,
push and pull and grow my own."

sometimes my father talks about dying and it scares me so much that i laugh

"there's a stretch on the highway
from your house to mine
my father and i pass each week.

there's a billboard above
and a graveyard below
and my father and i barely speak.

when we pass he says,
'everyone dies.
when i go, i am going for good.
i won't be there to feed you,
to love you, to lead you.
you should know, i did what i could.'"

dreamlog, blurry

last night i dreamt
of a fist tied closed with string
as the centre of a universe.
i watched it revolve,
cut off at the wrist,
and wished that, for once,
someone would ask me why.

needles

every once in a while, a strange thing happens to me
where the roof of my mouth gets heavy and my skull gets thick and tries to follow it down to sleep on the bed of my tongue.
and the skin on my fingers grows sharp around the edges where the digits sometimes fold into one another. i can feel the flesh react to each push on the keyboard; i can feel each corner even when i do not look.
i can't get enough air and i feel like it will never end and i am filled with the worst sense of panic and dread i can imagine and i don't know what brought it on or how to make it go away.
the thing is, i've had panic attacks before and they are not usually like this,
whatever this is.

this is the first time this has happened to me at work and i don't know what to do.

sam reflects:

i hear about a lot of people who look back on their ex boyfriends or girlfriends and think
"damn it, why did they become so attractive after we broke up?" etc.

but for me it's the EXACT opposite, like

man i cannot believe i ever had any interest in you at all oh god look at your face how did i find that redeeming because your shitty personality on top of that actually makes me want to vomit oh god look at your life you are going nowhere oh man what the fuck would my life even be like if i was still with you jesus you are so gross and unaccomplished and your whole life is just nothing oh my fuck why

...

i'm rude but mostly idgaf.

allbodies

bitter mouths clash together
when words are not enough,
and the heads attached will realize
that their hearts are just not in it.
you and i are different people,
both made up for different times,
and trapped in the constant
not-quite-rightness of this place.
people who are truly lonely are most so
when they reach for one another.
you will learn, as i have learned,
that our arms are made to hold ourselves alone.