servile

servile: having or showing an excessive willingness to serve or please others

I think some folks (mostly fatherless women, in my not so humble opinion) are conditioned to be servile. Motivated by a fear of abandonment, they equate or at least correlate doing with receiving. There exists this inner dialog, "If I give, I will get."  And yet life is unfair; we don't live in a tit-for-tat world.  These lessons can be known, but not learned for most.  Perhaps, myself included.

That being said, I've been sitting on these poems for awhile now. Timid to share them, I decided first to read one to my sister.  She cried.  So, now seems like the time.  They come from not only my own experiences, but also those of my sister's, my mother's, my grandmother's, my girlfriends, and from the women authors and comics I've grown to love and loathe for their own honesty.  Now I give you mine.

--

Evolution of a Whore

I would have loved, I would have grown
I would have listened, I would have respected 
I would have held your hand, I would have kissed your lips
I would have been there, I would have missed it
I would have driven far, I would have been late
I would have talked, I would have learned
I would have helped, I would have believed
I would have moved to Maine, I would have tried to understand
I would have trusted, I would have let go
I would have had patience, I would have settled for less
I would have inked, I would have entertained
I would have married, I would have dressed our babies in superhero Halloween costumes
For you, I would have
But now I dress in sluty costumes, and let you fuck me in the ass
I've change, I've compromised myself and reshaped my desire for you
You could have, but I already did
If only you had been there for me, sober, unconditionally
If only you had been there for me bravely, honestly
If only you hadn't gotten drunk and high, hit me, buried me, ignored me, tormented me
If only you hadn't cheated on me, cheated off me, fooled me, disrespected me, given up on me, underestimated me
If only, I would have

--

Ferris Wheel

ferris wheels are funny
romanticized, honey
sitting on that swinging bench
to your biceps, I did clench
your face was elated
too soon to be berated
skin dotted with freckles
too thin for my sarcastic heckles
love is like g-force
it runs a rampant, intense course
not listening to my instructions
you threw up after that ride with all the suction
spinning round and round
your weakness, I did found
your hypocrisy was blind
when a stranger commented in the ticket line
"you two make such a cute couple"
If only I'd known I was looking for something more supple
no longer will I give out
my benefit of the doubt
without courage to pay the cost
it's your big fucking loss

--

To every fatherless woman that has ever had her heart broken, keep giving. You may never get, but you are beautiful for such generosity. Don't shut yourself off, you are the grace that the rest of the world takes advantage of.

let's just say...

What was cold, is now hot again, or is it still cold? Apparently, giving space leads to stronger feelings, but then those feelings turn right back around and decide they still need space. This is all sounding too familiar.  Like pulling teeth. I get it, I freak you out...but only on weeks that end in even numbered days? Fickle.

-AND-

Inconsistency drives me bonkers.  Sometimes I just let it run rampant and end up flopping around on the floor seizing in my own anxiety, despite the roommate or the best friend telling me to calm the eff down. Lol. I'm glad you all can find humor in my dramatics, I'm trying to do the same these days. You're such great friends. <-- not sarcastic

-AND-

I'm bloody tired of walking on egg shells. I promised myself the last go around that if I felt this way, I would cut my losses...

Wouldn't it be nice if it were that easy?

mercurial

mercurial: characterized by rapid and unpredictable changeableness of mood; of, relating to, containing, or caused by mercury

I once vowed never to blog about my love life. Ha. Ha. Ha ha ha ha. Well, that ship has sailed! Now...

You all know that I've had flowers sent to me, breakfast made, but it's never really seemed as genuine as the past few weeks. Then BAM! Out of nowhere, we hit one speed bump and nothing, nada, zero, zilch.

Oh these mercurial signals, this hot and then cold behavior, they are hard for me to understand. I am, for the first time, angry at such a situation because no mater how much I think about it and about his reasoning and his situation, know matter how many times I've been through this before, I just get frustrated. Wish I could just snap my fucking fingers and fix everything, but the more I push, the more they pull, when pushing to me is just a small nudge of encouragement, it probably comes off as a giant shove.  Damn, I'm tired of walking on eggshells and being the one who has to be patient. 

Ha! I was over at Gill's house this weekend talking about all these sorted affairs and he echoed the rules that Nick made for me some four years ago...

1. If you see a man in uniform, run the other fucking way*
2. If that man says he isn't interested in punk rock, run even faster

that's not saying that military men are bad people, they've just been bad for me in the past.  Apparently, I make them feel things they're not prepared to feel, that's the best way I can describe it.  Woah, that makes me sound bat-shit-crazy. Shrug.

Anyway, funny thing, yesterday I was talking to Amy at work. Just chit-chatting away, when she started talking about this guy she was seeing. She said that they had been casually dating for about three weeks in August and that things were going great...they had a marvelous time together, grant it he seemed a little clingy (sent flowers, made her picture the backdrop on his phone, introduced her to his fam and friends, called her "his girl" all in the first two weeks), but she gave him the benefit of the doubt and plugged right along.  When out of the blue, he stopped talking to her completely! Just plain old gave up. Lol. I chuckled and asked if perhaps we were dating the same guy. We weren't, but it's nice to know that other people are passengers in the same shitty boat. Misery loves company.



Moral of this sorted affair, "I'll bring home the bacon if you bring home the turkey." Please be patient with me, and I will reciprocate, trust me when I say I need consistency and will never be anything short of real with you, even if you end up running in the other direction, hands failing in the air, and I'll trust that you might return to my life. I guess I'd rather love with everything I have, be scary vulnerable, than tuck my tail between my legs and hide behind a cold shoulder and "picky-ness."

space

space: a continuous area or expanse that is free, available, or unoccupied; a cowardly request when shit gets real...

Trix are For Kids
 
Silly Rabbit, happy endings are for people who deserve them

Silly Rabbit, good things like fathers and the ability to digest ice cream are for people who matter

Silly Rabbit, people like us, we get psychotic breaks before the age of 30, susceptibility to abusive relationships, and the ability to wallow in self pity

Oh Silly Rabbit, when will you ever learn

Start hopping fast, because you're burning all your bridges even faster

foreshadow

foreshadow: a warning or indication of (a future event)

False Foreshadows

Your arms, tattooed tangles

My thoughts still mangled

Confidence embraces me

But maybe this isn’t the key

Lying here, pretending that everything’s okay

Not willing to spend the price these emotions ask me to pay

I can only see the end

Knowing, one day I might never see you again

revelation

revelation: a surprising and previously unknown fact; the making known of a secret or the unknown


I had a strange revelation tonight.  Well, less of a revelation, and more of a final clear understanding. Which is almost satirical considering it was explained to me, no unveiled rather, by a heavily intoxicated individual.  We were on our way home from Quinn's, a local bar in Boise that hosts our "post bout functions" for roller derby (a.k.a. after parties).  It was 2 am and I had successfully gotten my roommate, Highway, into the car without tripping or puking.  The streets were dark, except for the occasional ominous red glow of a stop light, or the flicker of a passing porch. The night air was rushing in through the windows, chilling my cheeks.  I was quite, Highway was sleepy, but chatting up a storm.  In her slurred speech, she started to talk about how our next bout is on mother's day weekend and how she was bad at mother's day.  "How do you mean?" I asked.  "Well I hate Mother's day, because I grew up with thousands of mother figures who all feel worthy of a card or a gift or a gesture."  Now remember, Highway, similar to me, was abandoned by a parent at a young age.  In the brief moment of silence that followed her explanation, everything clicked. The light in my head had turned green and I empathized, "yeah, as a kid who has been abandoned at a young age, you have to grow up quickly and as a byproduct adopt this mantra that the only person that cares or matters in your life is you...even if the other people in your life don't feel the same way." Highway nodded her tipsy head and replied, "It's a cold cold coping mechanism, but it sure as hell works, look at us, we're fucking amazing."  True.

Considering our lives, statistically we should have had a child at a young age, been addicted to some sort of substance, had an eating disorder, a gambling problem, or a number of other debilitating troubles by now.  But no, when you do things for yourself and by yourself, when you are your own world, you can accomplish a lot...like putting yourself through law school, like being the youngest historical records archivist in the inter-mountain west, like kicking ass at skating derby, like overall generally being amazing, beautiful, strong, confident, courageous, and intelligent women. I'm proud of who I am and know that I owe a large part of this to, well, myself.  Living life like this way is effective.  Individualism is fantastic means by which to protect yourself from disappointment and all the other shit life tries to through at you. It makes you resilient.  But it wasn't until tonight that I realized that individualism and resilience aren't always valued by other people, nor understood by them.  I have struggled to explain this to my mother, for example.  Through words, I couldn't ever tell her fully why I don't need/want any "help" or why I can seem "coldhearted" sometimes.  And surely, my "selfishness" and "intensity" have been an ongoing battle in every relationship I have ever had.  But now I get it, I understand why they don't understand.

So now the question is, do I change? Uh. Will I ever value codependency?  Or, do I simply need to come, prepackaged, with an asterisk explaining who I am and why I am the way I am. Ha! Like a tag with wash and wear instructions.  Best invention ever.

on my mind...

I've been actively trying not to fall in love, but I think it's slapped me in the face, again. I hate my heart.


Interview / The Hunger / Beat Your Heart Out / Drain the Blood
Live at Reading Festival 2004 HQ
BrodyDalle.Webs.Com

let's just say...

"and better isn't always doing well, I know because I am better now myself...I wish I didn't love you quite as much" -Wye Oak

There are two parts to the quote above.

--

First, I can't sleep, again. I got nearly 6 hours of sleep Friday night. Big f-ing deal, right? Unfortunately this means that awake will be my state for the next 72 hours.  This might also mean it's time to give Ambien a second shot. Uck.

Have you ever seen those sleep aid commercials with Abe Lincoln, an astronaut, and a beaver?  Their catch phrase is something practical like, "your dreams miss you."  Well funny thing about that is that I have determined the cause of my insomnia (or at least one of the main causes) to be avoidance of my dreams.  When I do sleep I have been having horrific nightmares about being trapped, chased, robbed, or murdered.  Come to think of it, I wrote about this in an earlier post.  Moral of the story is that your dreams may want you back, but you might not want them back. So, that ad campaign can suck it.  I don't know what it's going to take, but boy would I sure love to make a change in my sleep patterns and mental health, a genuine non-drug assisted change.  If I had dreams filled with Abe Lincoln, astronauts, and beavers (so long as they were not actively trying to hurt me), I wouldn't be an insomniac, guaranteed.

Hmm, guess the campaign won an award.

--

Second, some heartaches will last a life time, this I have decided from firsthand experience.

gale

gale:  a strong current of air; a wind from 32-63 mph; an outburst of emotion

without courage

hurry
hurry
horrible
hurricane
rips right through me
my soul torn
like the sharp shards of the broken green grass
like the last strand of dignity dangling
threads from a tattered dish rag, used, past due
waved in violent winds
wet hands, soiled
wiped on a kitchen apron, frilly chills
your warning, I could not hear
over the greying grumble of my insanity, your instability
muted all possibilities
loomed into doomed darkness, depression
I drift away, spinning into middle Midwest tornadoes,
realizing that this is the last poem I'll ever write about you
hope you're happy

--
So last night I had a nightmare where I was moving into an apartment that was attached to an ex's house and I had to get through the house to get out or into my apartment, but I couldn't find the exit and in the meantime my ex traversed about with a myriad of other women. I hate you, stupid relationships and all the stupid baggage you leave behind.

So, then I woke up in a sweat and was wide awake for the rest of the night.  To make good use of my time I listened to some Frightened Rabbit and wrote some poems. I hate you insomnia.
--

topsy turvy

I see sets of 8 circles rolling round and round,
across cold concrete sky,
my cheek is pressed, frozen to the piercing atmosphere
a hit and a miss,
telecasted hipcheck highlighted
hung-over, like a rag-doll, someone flaps upward, toward the flat track,
her fishnet rips, cross-hatched black seeps open to reveal bruised yellow-purple polka dots
edged by pink flesh,
the wind whips my face, steam from a pack of sharks rolling invisible circles around fresh meat,
the florescent lit floor sparkles, polished bare,
a bald man's head in black and white stripes
light flickers through wheel hubs of neon green and bright blue,
my head throbs, my ribs ache,
tweet tweet tweet tweet!
one deep, stabbing breath and I've muster the courage to turn the entire world upside down,
everything rotating, slowly
back onto my toe stops, two steps
and the jammer line beckons my return
welcome to the world of roller derby

transfiguration

transfiguration: a complete change of form or appearance into a more beautiful or spiritual state. If you're religious, Christ's appearance to three of his disciples (Matthew 17:2, Mark 9:2–3, Luke 9:28-36)

Gawd! I don't mean to compare myself to Christ. In no way, actually, do I ever want to be compared to a spiritual body. Please, keep all your strange religious menageries, I want no part of them.

Instead I have doggies and derby love, and they are both a huge part of my most recent metamorphosis.  Things have changed, at the very least, transitioned.  For the first time in all my 22 years, I am having to do more than rationalize by external logic why I am doing what I am doing.   Let me begin, well I already have begun, but anyway, let me proclaim, rather, that playing derby is the first real thing I have chosen to do because it makes sense to me and only me.  No higher power, no societal standards, no emotional forces.  Just me and my own logic. 

So, as I wrote about earlier, I broke my ankle and without derby I realized that I was doing everything else in my life for no "real" reason.  I'm not talking about the "real" reasons you imagine.  Instead, I'm talk about genuine motivation that comes from the self and nothing else.  It's not because you have to get a college education, it's not because you have to pay your rent, it's not because it's your responsibility as a friend, a girlfriend, a sister, a daughter, a "high-functioning" adult.  It's because, well heck, you don't even have to say the reason.  No need to justify it to anybody else except yourself.  So, I changed and even cut all the things out of my life that I felt compelled to rationalize and explain to others. 

I got a new job, I ended a broken, no not just broken but rancid, relationship; I moved; I stopped sleeping, sleep never made sense to me anyway.  The last stronghold, though, is school.  For 18 years I have gotten straight A's and plugged through school because I had to, that's just what you're supposed to do, right?  Now that I am in a graduate program, this logic is broken.  I love my job and my career field and getting my masters is certainly a goal of mine, but why?  Why is a it a goal? Not what will it allow me to do in the future...but why is it important to me, and why is it important to me now?  I haven't discovered an answer to this pickle just quite yet.

I do know that I'll never have a mind-numbingly boring job again.  I do know that I'll never drive around the block not wanting to go inside my own home again.  I do know that I'll never stay in a relationship again just because it makes me feel "normal" or even worse "needed." Fuck being normal, fuck living by other people's standards.  Trying to live by other people's standards is not genuine, it's cowardice.  Live by your own standards, value shit because YOU value it. Own your life and how you live it.

So anyways, doggies and derby love...throughout this time of transition, I have been met with open and supporting arms from my derby family and their doggies!  Never could I have imagined that by being hospitable and welcoming me into their homes, hearts, and letting me bond with their children, furry or not, could my derby family have inspired such internal motivation, such genuine change and strides towards authenticity.  Thank you Highway and all the phenomenal women I skate with on TVR, you have no idea how you and how derby has effected me, no, better yet, how you have encouraged and fostered personal change.

on my mind...

normalcy: being within certain limits that define the range of normal functioning, President Harding's 1920's presidential campaign slogan

Houser, one of the girls I skate with, was sharing a story about both her personal and professional experience with VA psychologists.  She, like me, was once in a relationship with an Iraq veteran.  She also happens to be a licensed therapist.  And well, apart from "reminiscing" about how crazy we felt in those relationships, she also confirmed my suspicions... some VA psychologists' idea of therapy is "pushy" at best.  They define for the vet what is "normative behavior," and then they push them into that box, sometimes the pushing occurs even when the vet is ill suited or not ready for such normalcy.  Take for example, a month ago T told me that he is in a new relationship.  We've discussed, at length, about how he actively fights against being in any sort of relationship on a daily basis.  When I asked him why then, all he had to offer was, "because I want to feel normal."  If you don't genuinely want or desire to partake in normative behaviors, than why do them, why strive for them?  And more importantly if you cannot fully and wholeheartedly engage in normative behaviors, aren't you cheating yourself and others involved? Seems silly to me.

I've struggled with this myself.  The subjective and highly self-sustaining idea of norms, normalcy, normative behaviors, normal, etc. are not easily understood, at least not by my brain.  I am not normal, others remind me of this daily, and actually, I have come to enjoy actively working against norms. That;s not to say I'm a deviant or some subversive.  I'm an individual rather.  In my own observations, many "individuals" lack the courage they need to be unabashedly themselves. They instead, compromise themselves and their life experiences in order to fulfill society's definition of "normal."

Fuck being normal.  If I have to compromise my identity, my intuition, my love, my emotion, my anything, well then, that norm ought not to be followed.  I suppose this starting to leans towards anarchy.  But optimistically, without norms, society as we know it would change radically for the better, or so postulates my theory. If everyone adhered to the "you can swing your fist so long as it doesn't hit my nose" philosophy, I'd like to think that we'd have a happier healthier, more "zen" like existence.

Okay, this is turning into a run away thought. I digress. Back to normalcy and how being yourself above everything else is admirable!  I got my brother-in-law a children's book for Christmas in the How do Dinosaurs...? series.  It's a collection of books that basically socializes children and introduces them to the very identity stripping normative behaviors that I complained about earlier.  I gave him this book as a reminder of a conversation we once had.  The conversation was about his struggle to find the courage to be an individual, even if that individuality doesn't fit conventional norms.  My brother-in-law is also an Iraq vet and he too has transitioned out of an organization where individuality and non-normative behavior are not valued.  The transition has been difficult and I am glad that he has crazy me and my crazy sister here to remind him that non-normal is where it's at! Look, I'm no President Harding, but folks, don't compromise yourself just because society tells you to. Live with courage and intention; be an individual.

love: an incurable disease, or maybe an innate trait that manifests in unusual forms

Actively, I am trying not to fall in love ever again.  Never again. The only way I can "return to normalcy" is to pretend you (there have been few) have met your death, your ultimate demise, vanished from this earth. The other remedy is to simply recognize that I have a disease.  "Watch out cupid struck me with a sickness, pull out your little arrows and let me live my life." I wish I had written those words.

Love is sickness. Anyone have the virus?


Music video by Saves the Day performing Deranged & Desperate. (C) 2011 Razor & Tie Direct, LLC


Official Music Video for "Sick Muse", from the album FANTASIES 2009 Metric Productions http://www.ilovemetric.com video by Justin Broadbent and Michael Leach (HotDogGarbage) http://hotdoggarbage.com 

Come to think of it, I just might have the cure, I just may. Materialism and destruction (posts to come on these topics). Bubble wrap and a shiny new dress, big sunglasses, loud music. There's comfort is destroying things, there's comfort is movement. DANCE. DANCE. DANCE.

Update 1/3/12- So today was the perfect day to listen to Dawes; sunny and cold, lots of work to do.


Remember I don't own this content, it's from "North Hills" by Dawes (2009)

Anyway, this song, specifically the lyric "you might be loves reminder, but love is all I am" got me ah-thinking.  What if "love" is an innate trait that comes in varying degrees of intensity and some people have so much of it that it fills their entire being, where as others cannot feel it at all?  That would explain a lot.  It sure make coping with loses easier.  What if everyone I have ever loved, their memory binding to my skin like super glue, painful to rip apart, are simply reminder of this trait that I have called love?  I sure like that idea.  It means that I have some control, no that's the wrong word, some ownership of where my love manifests, but I can still accept that "love is not convenient, it does not cease at your command."


Those are my thoughts!  I have many more, mostly about materialism and destruction, but I will save those for another post.

omega

omega: the twenty-fourth and final letter of the Greek alphabet (Ω, ω), transliterated as ‘o’ or ‘ō’

Do you ever feel like you're going to give up on everything soon. Like an ending is nearing? Like you're running out of letters to use and once you've used them all, there is no hope.

I hate this feeling.

Fuck having a perpetually broken heart.
Fuck losing your appetite.
Fuck insomnia.
Fuck scars.
Fuck depression.

lest's just say...

let's just say...

"I coughed out my heart in the last stall" and I've dumped these buckets of false hope

I'm also really tired of having dreams about your stupid girlfriend. Get the frick out of my subconscious. It's getting old, fast.

and



and

"you can say what you want, you're forgiven. happy fucking congratulations!"

that is such a damn good line.



p.s. I don't own these videos, Studio Brussel and Sony Entertainment 2009 do, so don't seal!

meathead

meathead: slang for a muscular man, who isn't highly intelligent

First, a disclaimer-- I am going to be judgmental in this post. It's bad, but sometimes, I reserve the right to be a little snooty.

After my UW orientation in Seattle, I spent the weekend with Zack in Olympia. Now remember folks, I dated Zack in high school.  Why did I decided to stop doing that?... oh right, the man is a meathead. There, I said, I feel bad, but it's true. He's a strong, proportional, 6'6" guy who likes playing football, drinking beer, listening to metal, and not much else.  Most of our conversations (since we live in two separate states) are about how his day was and what he ate. Too snooty? Yeah, I think I'm being too snooty.  Okay, so he's not 100% meathead, he's also very loyal and supportive of his friends and family, he's kind-hearted, and won't admit it, emotional (especially when not fed), and has surprising qualities (like the ability to improve). Mar, anyway, so during this weekend, I learned that Zack, albeit a fantastic catch for some other individual, just is a little too meatheaded for my tastes.

What gives? Seems like if I'm attracted to someone physically, I'm not mentally or emotionally, and vise versa. I think it's high time I took a hiatus from relationships, and attraction, and all that jazz.  As soon as I am done with this post, in fact, I am going to write a to do list and the number one task will be "quit trying to fall in love."

Zack's ACDC shirt, I hand washed it, and this is how grey the water was after the third wash! My collection of men's t-shirts is unprecedented.

Flight back to Boise, ID. Do you see the heart-shaped pond?

Anyway, sorry Zack and the dozen or so other people I've dated over the past year, I'm exhausted, and if something isn't genuine-100% attraction, why bother?  We're only cheating ourselves that way.

exchew

eschew: to deliberately avoid using; abstain from

It's funny how lately I have been trying to eschew from contacting you.  I know it is inevitable and I really should truly try to avoid seeing you. You have a girlfriend, whether you respect her or not is not my problem, but I know, and you should too, that having your cake and then eating it is not the right thing to do. So, yes, I have been avoiding you.

Funny though, how fate likes to taunt me.  I walked to Hastings at lunch today and there you were in line. Fuck. I tried to turn and leave quickly. You saw me.  Flustered I made some asinine excuse and darted out the door.  Then you went and did your stupid thing that sucks me the fuck back in. Text from you reads, "It was nice to see your face. I'm sad we couldn't chat more." Fuck fuck fuck fuckity fuck fuck. What part of "I will always love you and it is not fair to your girlfriend that you keep me in your life...cry cry cry" do you not understand? It's not really fair to me either. You're in your own little world. Sigh.

Text from me reads, "I'm not stalking you, quite the opposite actually. Cross my heart. Pinky promise.'

update- I was told that I need to stop referring to "you" as if I am directly talking to you. So here on out I will speak of you in the third-person, like normal people do.

let's just say...

let's just say that you can keep my heart, because I don't fucking need it anymore.


this content is owned by Vevo...so we'll see how long it stays afloat on my blog

on my mind...

I cleaned out my hard drive last night, only to realize that most of my life is anthologized by playlists and mixed CDs.  So I went to Office Max down the road from my house, bought a bunch of blank discs and started burning!  If I get the courage, I think I'll mail these to all the people who have inspired them. So, T and Nick and Jen and Rob, the list goes on, if you get a randmon massive amount of CDs, don't panic! Just listen. That's my moto lately. DON'T PANIC, JUST LISTEN.


original content owned by the Fruit Bats

I hate biting my tongue. Probably can't do it for much longer, I apologize in advance.

firecracker

firecracker: an idiom meaning a very intense, lively, and outspoken individual; spitfire

I must place a disclosure at the start of this post...the words below are not aimed towards anyone other than one specific individual, and it's probably close to a 99.99% chance that you are not that person. Despite this, please feel free to read on.

So last night, meh, I forgot to mention one thing while under the dim lights of Sonic, sitting across from your small skeleton on that cookie-cutting red bench which left imprints of evil ovals on my thighs. I forgot to inform you that you're the one who made the biggest assumption of them all. You assumed I was okay, silly really.

Que poem.

Firecracker

I am not like you
your face all smugged together,
vapidly dribbling, "pain's not necessarily a bad thing...
drifting through life is the right thing to do"
fuck that shit,
I never want to live my life like that again
if it comes to it,
I will make all things messy and difficult
I will feel, but not wallow
I will live with intention, and not suffer
I will be a wild whirlwind
I will swing my wreaking ball right into your heart
smash it into a trillion tiny flecks of ruby red
you will feel my wrath
you will have no choice but to bow in my presence
as I sweat sugary seven-7-up-sprite
and stomp in giant puddles of hyperactivity,
splashing you and all your pathetic lambs with exhalation and a natural high
I will firecracker through your life like an electric storm of
glittery gold and fiery yellow,
sprinkling down onto your skin,
seeping-in like the creeping ash and the flickering sting of a cigarette burn
I will not be compromised.

"if you felt good inside, you wouldn't be so scared of me"

"if you felt good inside, you wouldn't be so scared of me": song lyric from Mirah, off her album C'mon Miricale

content courtesy of chaosrah on youtube. I do not own this video.

My mind is a vortex of spinning cognition and introspection. Never stopping, never slowing. It's at its worse when my thoughts get so loud that they proceed in a shouting match with one another. There's a screaming opera of voices in my head right before I sink, sink into a hole, spinning downward, buried beneath my thoughts like a pile of dirt slowly crumbling over my body, compressed under a heavy and pensive elephant sitting on my chest.

If I think too much, I can think myself straight into a panic attack. I wish anxiety on no individual. You honestly feel as if you are dying, as if there is nothing you can do. The harder you try to calm down, the more you try to halt thinking, the worse it gets.

Don't get me wrong, I love thinking. I have a very complex inner life. More rich than, probably, most people's day to day lives. My brain is a crazy place. But sometimes, in rarity, I long for a quite mind.

Recently, I've been listening to a lot of Mirah. Her music makes my mind quite. She sings the words I am already thinking, so my mind just stops, listens, lives. There is no reason to think when the thoughts are being passed through your brain by another. Maybe this is why hypnotist have jobs and commercials tell you to "buy, buy, buy" and we obey.

Anyway, with this influx of thinking, I've realized that I haven't written in a long while. So, I packed my notepad and have been frantically scribbling and scrawling these past few days. Word vomit, some may say. This has helped, my mind may not be completely quite, but it has turned the volume down. My brain is quite enough now to realize that, frankly, "if you felt good inside, you wouldn't be so scared of me." This you, thye may not know who they are, but I do.

I wrote this, these are my thoughts. I am secure and safe now, and wish you were too. You'd at least, then, have the courage to live your life unabashed.

So.

QUE PENA

quality is a trait I stopped searching for once you choked the suss out of my curiosity.
ugly is the more I see, the closer I get.
ending is my tolerance and compassion, the pity you deceived your way into guarantee.
please leave me alone. I need coping, I need to lament my losses and gasp for the air that has long vacated my livelihood while buried beneath grand and lofty egos.
everything is frigid, chilled.
no air colder to breath, ice crystals stab my esophagus and consume my lungs, freezing my heart frigid and numbing my head into a solid stone of slush.
again
no, I can't do this again.

bury the hatchet

bury the hatchet: an American English colloquialism meaning "to make peace"

All I have to say about this is, I wish I could. I really do.  But I think it's just going to rear it's ugly head later on. Dirt is not the best for burying.

Sorry, and you know I'll always love you, I just can't keep doing this, and I'll never be able to forgive and forget.

There I said it, it has been said. 

update: if you really meant it when you said "you still want me in your life," then why don't you show it? actions speak louder than words.