bits and pieces to soak in.

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incapable of articulation these days, and that is the truth.

i will paint my frustrations
with overused words and rhymes
of my incapability at success.
another drone of consumption and greed
born at your pleasure
to continue a sick cycle into our demise.
i am not worthy of a second look,
clearly, and i grew up with the intention
of bringing myself up the ladder we’re all supposed
to fit on, somehow. i was physically raised,
but my intellect was neglected to an extent.
class and race, even gender (as a female), never crossed the mind.
pathetic and disgusting to avoid these issues.
after a while, i thought i should raise myself.
it is silly and absurd to believe one can lift
themselves with no aid. it’s a white way of
thinking i want to avoid.

we all need help in different ways, and i feel
as though i’ve been catapulted into an abyss
of unknowing and evergrowing fear.
for how are any of us supposed to simply know
what to do and how to live? and shame on you
for believing that anyone is supposed to magically
survive when they are raised with a specific ignorance.
so here i lay, with the thoughts that i am better than i actually
am, buried under media consumption of other.
the only desire i was born with was the desire for diamonds
and a closet full of anything i wanted. i grew up in the TV world
where all i saw was madonna, glamour, fame.
i drowned in it, and i awake in my cave where the water
rushes by. even now i cannot explain the fear, the dread, the ignorance right.

you were there when i never needed you. life was simple.
you only want simple, i can tell. and now… i need you most.
you are nowhere to be found. and i am in a place where i cannot
place myself. i cannot see outside of myself. trapped in unworldly, mucked
conscious. clouded with unknowing, and crying as a result.
but crying is self-pity. weakness. crying is not the release i once thought it was.
i am woman. i don’t allow myself to cry. no more.
i try to be strong. i work to be strong. all i ever feel is the frail
filling up my bones, replacing my marrow. it may as well be stripped from me completely.
my feeble humanity eats at my flesh and i sit in fits, as usual.
even this declaration is a victimization of my existence.
and so you see, the vicious circle of privilege rears it’s ugly head
for the unprepared who think they have it all, when….

i am torn and i am hideous. 

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an apology. a cry.

today i behaved as an insolent child. i apologize. and my love, you should know i miss you terribly when you leave. it is notions like these
that i wish could satisfy my fear and my hunger. i should take comfort in our lazy days. i should be calmed at the thoughts of our love, for it’s waves extend across continents and seas.
my insomnia tears my heart because one image of you should relieve
me of all fears and pain, and yet i sit and dwell paranoid and in vain
as a bird about the impossible questions to answer. i stew in the unhealthiest and unholiest of ways.
there are many reasons i adore you, but this reason i need you. to press me. grounded. i want all truths and i fear all unknown and it rips me apart like nobody knows.

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April fools

“You’re all the same, you know.” Charlotte spoke quietly, but knowingly.

He lit a cigarette, looked her up and down, and leaned back on the headboard of her bed. He smiled and remained silent. It drove her insane. She didn’t know what to think, so she walked away. It was too early in the morning to deal with his relentless narcissism. Her coffee was smelling too fresh, too crisp. Her morning was too positive and productive to deal with his neverending selfishness which was unbearable in this winter. After the loss of her own sanity and the pain of losing it, she couldn’t babysit his ego anymore.

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What do you do when all you want to do is throw a tantrum and have someone grab you, hold you close and tell you it’ll be okay? It sounds cliché, but. What do you do when you need the wrong kind of attention that isn’t healthy, but it would feel so good, evilly. Evilly, I wait. For that one to sit me down from a rampage, and kiss me so rough I forget the hurt.

But I sit, hypocrite, because when I got that I was enraged… furious. Hurt that he wouldn’t listen. So hypocrite I am, and hypocrite I accept, ‘cos nothing feels right when it’s “right.” So I make wrong, fuck up, fuck up, fuck up. I throw myself over cliff after cliff and watch myself crash, crash, crash. The bones everywhere, where I pick up the pieces and try to put them back together.

I sit in the dark, wet alley. Where the rain sticks to the floor and glows, left over from the day drops. I’m hunched and hurtled on the ground, stitching myself back together. Placing bones together like lego’s. For that person… that person I needed to hold me to the floor, for better or worse, wasn’t there to keep me grounded. So I flew, I soar, I went too far, and I crashed and burned into the gravel that shattered me.

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reach

and i want you to know what i think of you. your blood-boiling gazes and soft-toned suggestions. it is absolutely gut-wrenching,

but if you will ever know is the question.

he set me in my place not too long ago, when i thought the only person needing to be put in their place between the two of us was him. i was humbled that night, and way okay with it.

i look forward and i look toward new. i look up and down and i look at you. the possibilities are endless and i am finally behaving brave. i’m feeling my way with my eyes still open.

i have never felt worse but i have never felt better. because feeling anything this intense is a life worth living. even down is up. i have just begun.

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“hurricane drunk”

i have no words yet for tonight. i am completely lost within myself and in this world. i don’t know who i am, or what i want… maybe i do know what i want and am just deathly afraid of it. i cannot let go, no matter how much i know i need to and/or want to and/or know it is the right thing to do. i keep tending to these threads when i do not need to.

i am tired of hiding from everyone i know. the second i lashed out i was placed right back into my cage and i felt miserable. i just… i was placed back into my cage. with judgments (though they said they weren’t judging, they were) and fear.

i thought, “hey, this person is feeling depressed… they should relate,” and then the second i let out my own roars, they shut me up… unable to face their own roars. it made me crazy. and then they said, “you think too much,”

and i burst. i cried and said, “I DON’T THINK TOO MUCH. i’m so tired of hearing that, i’m so tired of hearing that, i’m so tired of hearing that.” as they tried to cradle me into a calm. but i am the complete opposite of calm right now. physically i am. mentally and emotionally i am a hurricane. i can’t handle this skin or this mind anymore.

i am a mess. and i know we all are, but i feel like i have no one to hear me out and truly understand what this is. i feel like everyone thinks i am crazy. but maybe i am just not giving the right people a chance. tonight i took a chance and it completely backfired and the ugly truth just came back to haunt me. i knew it, and i ignored it. and i was told it again. i do not know how to handle it. it it it.

i brace myself.

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you make everything.

“well he sat on my bed awkwardly, like he felt he needed to. he wanted to, i could tell… but a piece felt forced. just a little. and at the same time he wanted me. it was as if he knew he wanted me and wanted to grab me right there… like a volcano finally releasing. but he knew he couldn’t, so he wouldn’t… and we’d forever be inhibited in this limbo of energy we must contain. it’s exhausting.”

he stared at her. listened intently. his princess of self-annihilation. how could he help her this time? these problems she weaseled her way into were never-ending, and he was exhausted himself. couldn’t she see that? that he couldn’t help this time, even if he wanted to. that maybe he needed her help this time. in their own limbo of boy meets girl cliché, he dreamt her in ways she could never be while she danced along the frays of other love not including him.

in her real life she drew war paint on her face, dressed in sequin dresses, and danced around her room to zz top’s version of “wild thing,” belting out the words and imagining herself at a concert in the 1960s, lungs filled to the brim with smoke, rainbow paint sprawled on her bare legs. the day was overcast in her american fantasy of freedom with a joint in her hand. she swayed with over-dramatic eyelashes and a smirk. feathers and braids in her blonde and tangled hair.

he didn’t make it to this dream. but he did—volcano boy. waiting. patient. waiting. where they shared the joint in the fields of the zz top concert and a cloud of their hazy alliance, where gazes were traded and kisses were desired.

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to intend for

when little macy woke up she had not a clue where she was, but she had a slight buzz. a tingle with magic and mingle. she knew it was her home though it did not look like reality, and she lived with a famous movie star.

but one day an old love came knocking on the door. she had already told him to forget her, leave her alone, pretend she existed - no more. however, he refused to accept that wish and continued to persist, so she let him in once more. her roommates did not share the sentiment, and he felt their resentment, so he told macy he did not like them. she brushed him off but needed his help when she tried to climb up to her room and the ledge broke.

so he stood underneath while she tried to fix the rickety wood level that she held on to with her elbow digging in. then all of a sudden the scene flashed back downstairs where they ended up alone. and he went to kiss her and she could not forget how his lips felt so she accepted. and as she accepted a close friend barged in - fate interrupted them again.

suddenly he was gone but she did not feel a difference this time. not emotionally, not physically. it was a simple truth. and while she prepared for her duties her frizzy hair (which magically turned bright orange!) was a nuisance which she attempted to braid away from her face. macy’s dear friend, she could see in the reflection, going through magazines and listening to music. getting ready for her own agenda. but all macy could think about was the cute boy waiting to see her that night. she was not sure if he was waiting but she liked to think.

switch again and this time she’s home, but it is not the home she knows. another kind of home. here her friends played and it was the next day when they gathered their things and got back on their wings. it was a love she knew but he was distant. but best friend was there and that made it okay.

they spent the day drained and wasted, in a daze of the high night before. it felt like the laze of summer she craved for again. a summer from a long time ago but with the added present bliss of age and bravery. she loved them all and she held them dear within her heart but she kept that part deep inside.

it ended with a bang of movie watching in and old basement-like room. cozy and somewhat dim with cheesy kitsch furniture covered in plaid. friends watching films and laughing and crying and macy held her crying friend close. the friend laughed and cried, “WHY?!” but no one knew.

all of a sudden they screeched her name shakily as a scorpion came down over her face from a web. she grabbed quick and held it tight when a tarantula appeared. she forced the scorpion to sting the tarantula so they both would leave her alone.

but see, he was the scorpion and she was the tarantula and macy turned them against each other. but when she woke up she gasped deep breaths and forced her eyes open. sitting up like fire she felt around her to make sure no creatures were crawling.

deep breaths and open eyes made her realize. but the feelings were still rather relevant.