[Most Recent Entries]
Below are the 5 most recent journal entries recorded in
|Monday, March 31st, 2008|
today i have been: gently, timidly, vulnerably, rawly in love [...with my surroundings; with certain people in the abstract; with everything i touch]. an open wound to a warm gulf sea.
|Monday, March 10th, 2008|
(realization:) your whole life has been full of selfish, controlling women.
i can't decide whether to feel better about myself by contrast, or to wish you had more of a spine.
|Tuesday, July 24th, 2007|
Freedom's just another word for "nothing left to lose".
There are times I don't trust myself to move because I might just keep walking, walk right out of my life. Out into the rain-filled streets without shoes on, shivering beneath the streetlights, wondering what my name used to be. Boarding the first train to anywhere. Laughing, crying, it doesn't seem to matter anymore.
So I sit very still, and when you ask me what's wrong, I can't make sense of the words. Speaking is as dangerous as moving; moreso. The words, the sharp-edged truths that would slice you open, gut you like a fish. They're balanced on my tongue, cold metal. Quivering to be released.
I feel like I'm losing myself, beginning to disappear. Subconscious desperation: a part of me would throw everything else away to have my freedom back. Panic, just beneath the surface, always there. Anxiety. Resentment.
I mistrust you for loving me when I am this way, because I don't, and therefore your judgement in everything is suspect.
My own anger frightens me. My own cruelty. You can tell you've really hurt me when I go calm, perfectly still. It's as though it all starts making sense in that one moment: So that's how it is.
I see his nose is bleeding and all I can think over the pounding of my own blood in my ears is: I'm going to Hell for this. For all of it.
|Friday, April 6th, 2007|
someone took a big eraser to the sky today, rubbed it out, smeared it all over, but wasn't careful enough to get it all, left faded blotches untouched, washed-out cobalt. the juxtaposition of snow-bullets over sunlit grass was harsh, glaring; can't figure out how to make sense of this; conflicting sensory input. they say olfactory memories are strongest; i catch a waft of gasoline and exhaust and feel intensely in the past, but it's a time i can't quite place; it's pleasant, though, and i wonder why i find smells like steam and gasoline to be pleasant. gasoline smell catches fire in my head, lit like a match, and the world is all vivid and strange. in a few minutes a big sun bomb will go off and rend fiery claws through my eyes and into my skull and we will fuse in glorious explosion.
there's a little purple flower outside my house, and it's bent over in a pitiful arc from the cold, starting to wither. just a few days ago it was supple and bright and standing tall and sun-basking. i stood and watched it waver in the snow-filled wind and contemplated ripping it out of the ground. couldn't decide whether to discard its life and appreciate what it was, lending some kind of closure, or let it continue to struggle for life, suffering in the misery of hope. this is a decision i feel i too often have to make.
i wanted to take my insides out for you. i wanted to cut myself open and rearrange the parts so that they matched you better. so that they fit you better. we spoke and joked about what would happen if we were different people, but i wasn't joking more than i was joking. i was never sure how serious you were. i came clean with you one day, after months of burning agony. i pulled up all of our words and told you i was serious, and that i wished what we joked about was true.
you told me no. in the nicest way possible, you reaffirmed that you were just joking around, and that it was fun to talk about but it would never happen. all the presents and the letters and papers that plastered around, it was all there, but all fake. i knew this, deep inside i knew this, but the rest of me wanted to know for sure.
i hated everyone who took you away from me for a while, especially when they wouldn't treat you as well as i would have. i could stand doing things i hated just because they were important to you. every time we moved, we moved together.
i'm over you, but i might not be over that feeling. that i would have thrown away everything in my life to make it your life.