a very merry middle

dear santa:
next time, for christmas, i will know better.
i will know to ask for my vision back,
i will know to ask to not be sick.

merry christmas,
dizzying anger.

merry christmas,
hate hate hate.

oh wait,

nevermind.

for want of

"i don't care if you hurt me. just don't do it on purpose."
"i have no intention of hurting you."

this is all i can ask for,
with the real words,
anyway.

but i want, i want, i want
more than you can give.

(right now?)
(forever?)

"do you want to hang out after the break?"
"yeah, we can."
"i know we can. but do you want to?"
"sure."
"..."
"yes."

"i like that one much better."

kiss me.

to the boy i fall in love with:

slow dance with me to
"sweet and low" by augustana,
alone in your room,

with dim

dim

lights.

please? please.

lock

post script:
chivalry is dead.
i killed him.

THE YOUTH ARE STARTING TO CHANGE ARE YOU
STARTING TO CHANGE ARE YOU
TOGETHER

tuck me in, dig me up:
goodnight. goodnight. goodnight.

i roll the window down

and then begin to breathe in.

hello world, have you forgotten about me yet?
made cheaply, bought cheaply, used cheaply, left cheaply
(at what expense, and to who)

as you are driving me home.

can i be loved yet? please?
okay.

late

i am tired.

i'm picking fights for no reason.
nothing new.

i never had a reason to do anything, ever.

wearing boots in bed,
braiding the same fucking piece of hair,
waiting for time to go faster,
so i can go home.

"home".

there are certain people who,
i think,
i might be sick
if i see.

oh, you.

(what do you think you are doing, hm?)

plaid - this city

i will not fall in love with any part of you;
your teeth or your eyes or your muscle's sinew.
i will not fall in love with your nose or your smile.
i will not fall in love with your current lifestyle.
i will not fall in love with your family or house,
or the curve of your lips and the shape of your mouth.
i will not fall in love with the stories you share.
i will not fall in love with the wind in your hair.
i will not fall in love with the pictures you took,
or the thoughts we both share when you give me that look.
i will not fall in love with who you used to be,
or who you are now, after knowing me.
i will not fall in love with your neck and your voice.
i will not fall in love with you, given the choice.
i will not fall in love with your bones and your skin.
i will not fall in love with the places you've been.
i will not fall in love, because love is blind,
but not deaf to the words that you left behind.

hear that? listen:

snap.

relay

sitting in an airport for what will eventually be six hours
waiting for a flight, delayed because the plane
was falling apart.

listening to everyone around me
speak a language i can understand
but cannot speak.

chicken fingers,
cold and untouched,
in a coffee cup,
waiting

for me.

(everyone is waiting for something, huh?)

the seven of clubs

maybe it's stupid, but i think i'm having an anxiety attack because a boy i barely know has decided to cut me out of his life. we've talked on two occasions. i don't know his middle name. i know it makes no sense to care, but i make no sense in general, and it just hurts. it hurts. it hurts.

i am having an anxiety attack. i am, i know i am.

and i cannot win a single game of solitaire.

the end.

full throttle

i'm no good with attachment
that is, mutual attachment

i can't deal with people who like me
i just can't

i will chase after you up until the point when you turn around to try and meet me
and then i will run away

don't ask me why
i don't know

all i can do is blame some premature diagnosis
given to me by a doctor who i will never see again

today i learned that i am nihilistic
today i realized that i may very well die alone.

(punctuate)
(.)

if only a self-fulfilling prophecy
were really that fulfilling.

merry times

shots of tequila and a lime that got me drunker than the alcohol,
and still i can only manage to reach that silly state of partial drunkenness,
and only halfway right,
if not completely left.

and in a room that reeks of vomit that looked suspiciously (predictably) like rice,
where i remained so i could monitor someone else's breathing, for once
i find myself alone.

i find myself alone.

and i'm sorry,
to the clone of the guy i already dated,
but you're too comfortable for me to really care about you.
(besides, i've only known you for a week,
and if i really managed to break your heart in that amount of time,
like you said i did,
you have a weak heart to begin with,
and it likely has a dilapidated beat.)

love can't be comfortable.
when it is, it's not exciting.

and when i say love, i mean exhilaration.

because when you walk into the room, i don't want to think
"i'm comfortable now"
i want to think
"..."
because when you're excited you don't really think about shit.

like being on a rollercoaster,
you don't think
"ahhhh"
you just say it
you just do it
you just are

sometimes you have to grab discomfort and kick it in the ass
(or kiss it on the lips)

and if you're lucky,
you'll forget how to breathe.

absolut

been at university for two weeks and i've already consumed more alcohol than i did all summer, slept around like a fucking minx, and "settled down" with a sweet guy who i guess i ought to start calling my boyfriend.

life should be good, but i still consider it the same level of blase (enter french accent) that it has been for ages. i'm starting to wonder if i'll ever feel anything again, ever.

although i know i felt something last night when a guy called me a bitch from halfway down the street and i flipped him the bird and kept walking like i didn't give a shit. then, when i was around the corner, i sat down on the curb and started to cry.

i had my girlies there to cheer me up, though. that's never happened before.

life is good, i know. i just have a hard time showing it.

time for another vodka and lime.

defend

i want to not have to take medication anymore
which is why i'm going back on my meds.










THE CIRCLE OF LIFE.

what you get

just cried because i lost a game of solitaire
yep, you betcha

because here's the thing, ladies the gents:
the real deal, sans sucre:

the only time you should start up on the pills is when you really, really need them.
and how do you know when that is?
well, if you think you need them, you're wrong.
and if you aren't sure, then you need them.

and it's a lot simpler than it sounds, because trust me when i say
that you don't know what the fuck is right for yourself.
so whatever you think - do the opposite.

if you knew what was right for yourself,
you wouldn't be in this fucking hole to begin with.

now can i please win a fucking game of solitaire
so i can go to bed?
fuck.