feeling like

goals:

to have a cute partner by Halloween so we can do a buffalo '66 costume together. 

Scorpios

good for sex and not much else unless you enjoy feeling bad about yourself. 

52 weeks

No matter how much you feed the wolf, he keeps looking at the forest.

if i stopped talking to you would you notice? would you say "thank god" and move on? i'm so tired of being non permanent. i don't feel important to anyone. i know that's not true. i wish not being important to one person didn't make me perceive feeling unimportant to everyone.

life bucket list (so far)

i love it when i see a child carrying around a dirty pastel scrap of fabric that obviously used to resemble a doll or an animal toy of some sort. my parents threw away a toy i loved and lied to me for years saying i lost it. stay loyal and true to your friends. 

snow day no way

"who you are is God's gift to you, who you become is your gift back to God."

We were inside the train car when I started to cry. You were crying too, 

            smiling and crying in a way that made me 

even more hysterical. You said I could have anything I wanted, but I 

                                                                                      just couldn’t say it out loud. 

Actually, you said Love, for you, 

                                 is larger than the usual romantic love. It’s like a religion. It’s 

                                                                                                 terrifying. No one 

                                                                                 will ever want to sleep with you.

we are all displaced from our lives and my friend comes around with drops of lorazepam to put on our tongues. it is a warmth on my tongue that moves down to my crotch and makes my brain feel the way I think a sloth feels looking at a leaf in the sun. I wonder always how the medicine i take will effect my dreams. 

we don't eat regularly and there are books and hangers on the floor from therapeutic cleaning we started and never finished. that shit used to drive my dad crazy. so it stays because this isn't a place for what drives men crazy. 

I sleep in fitful and desperate bursts and wake up often with sweat pooling in the hollows in my chest and whimpers coming from my throat that I can't remember the origin of. you don't have to read minds to know I was driving my roommate at the hospital crazy with my incessant night coughing and terrors. I don't know what upsets me anymore in my dreams but it perches on the line between sentient and subconscious and throws its own feces over whatever side it's feeling vengeful toward that day. 

there is something ancient and old and sacred about a house full of women mourning. quiet sock feet followed by tiny clicking dog familiar nails as you sob down the dark hallway. 

Will you check if she's ok will you lay down beside your sister and feel the fragile curve of her back rising and falling to erratic breaths and expelling tears like a languid sprinkler system. you sowed the seeds of sadness but now I'm here to bring the crop in. it's emptiness in my eyes that don't focus or recognize and blisters on my fingers from holding too tight. 

i was going to make a new blog

but I always come back to this one when I'm sad so why not.