“I know exactly how that is. To love somebody who doesn’t deserve it. Because they are all you have. Because any attention is better than no attention."

This is where i'm at right now. This is what i'm fucking working with. I need to cut the cord. I need to let you be.

And just when I thought the high tides had subsided, I was shit on. Metarphorically of course. But I might as well had been stuck standing there covered in real live human fesis.

I inherited the loose lips from you, mother dear. I don't ever remember getting off the gossip train. Muffeled hidden agendas were always shining bright enough for me to see. I was the fool. I let the gossip feed me in the morning, comfort me in the evenings, and flicker on my phone at night like a reminder night light. You see, I let words get in the way. I became a pawn in a high game of chess. What a mess, what a mess. But I have power. I have actions and rational thoughts. I am an expert at getting my act together at the drop of a fucking hat. But why is this time so very, very different. Why do I feel glum and introverted and not alive and kickin. I want to have a fucking say so. My sister, my mom, them I cannot control. But I have working parts, I have agile arms and capable legs. I can carry my weight and my responsibilities in my back pocket. I can get the ball rolling, All I need is a "spliff and a fag."

visit,

I wish you were there for those visiting hours. Every single fucking day. Minus Tuesday's, no one is allowed on Tuesday's.

"This kitty never fails - my pussy's tough as nails."

So my ex-boyfriend just told me his mom died on facebook chat. What do you even say to that? No emoticon is going to make him feel better. I don't know what the fuck to say. I've been trying to give one word answers because knowing me i'd say something insensitive, not on purpose of course but I'm just really awkward when the topic of death is on the table.

Fuck I wish I was a dude. Dudes don't talk to other dudes about death. They don't share feelings. But no I have lady parts and lady emotions.

But then the conversation turned around. He was telling me about last night and how when he found out he left the bar and was pretty drunk (DRUNK DRIVING IS NOT OKAY) and he started driving over to my old apartment, he pulled in the complex and then realized he was drunk and that I had moved 9 1/2 hours away and we had broken up. And he laughed about it. Which gave me leeway to laugh about it as well. And laughter is something I can deal with, laughter is good. And then I highfived myself because being on good terms with an ex is pretty fucking cool sometimes.

And then after the laughter subsided and I thought hey this conversation is cool, I'm glad it turned around into something positive he said, "oh yeah and fuck you." And I didn't even bat an eye. His mom did just die after all. We can be friends another day.

Downloaded what I like to call "feel like a bad ass" music.

My neighbor and her male friend are currently fighting in the background. I type as they bicker. I can't quite make out what they are saying. I'll go with infidelity on his part.

Me, I'm outside on my porch chain-smoking, nervous. Tomorrow I have to make a major phone call to my father. My angry 90% of the time father. I'll have to tell him about my money troubles, my misfortunes. Another one of my fuck ups to put in the insufferable daughter hall of fame. Eldest of 3 girls, I'm the one him and my mother worry about the most. I see error in my ways. I see a selfish person in the mirror sometimes. I don't think I am avoiding many of life's hiccups. But I do see that fucking up is getting old.

Fucking up, fucking fuck. I like the call this stage of my life the "see how many shitty things happen to you and see if you make it out on top" time.

I am changing this, it's long overdue.

Black out. Wake up. Repeat. Self medicate. Self diagnosis. Enhance our looks, the hooks of all our favorite songs. Sung at our top vocal octaves. On top of our little world. This reclusive little town. Sleep some, sleep some more. Rent is due. I'm broke. No new job prospects on the horizon. Mom wants to "talk". Good, great. I know i've got a good head on my shoulders but what if said shoulders concur. What if they cave in and leave me helpless. I won't have a lifeline. I won't have a fallback plan. Then, I will be treading these waters with nothing to show for it. I'd hate to look like scum. Let's backtrack here, let's reverse the car and speed through the red lights. We can get all the speeding tickets in the world but at least we'd be honest. We'd be great. We'd be wonderful. And that's all that really matters in this world. Or so I'd like to think. So please, please just let me think.

We are making out with boys we are simply uninterested in. Causalities, mirages, glimmering opportunities. Opportunities, just simply so. Kaleidoscope medleys. Convenience, convenience, convenience. It's always fucking about convenience. Ignoring our wants, succumbing to our acceptability. Much better than average. Much better than just so. It's all warped, this way of living. Let's raise the stakes. Let's take advantage of the fact that we are young. Young and in control of our destiny. Turn this boat around I want out.

"Its a shame, i have the perfect shoulder for the perfect bag to hold all sorts of wonderful books, just so i could brag about my knowledge and get those intriguing looks. and if i read more i could probably muster up some better hooks but like i said. its a shame. " -Shaant

I woke up 19 in Texas.

I haven't been inspired in quite a while and my creativity comes and goes like a wildfire in California. I care too much. You care too little. I can't wait to move out of this sleepy town. No progression taking place. I get anxiety when I spend money because I'm money hungry, feed me. Plus I'd be more interested if you were already spoken for. In all fairness when do good things start happening for me like they used to? Today's wisecrack is tomorrow's heart attack..

Naked? At a time like this?

I had sex today. Post-war sex. It was very strange. I guess that is putting it lightly. It was like trying to find a needle in a haystack. It was very contrived, weird, and other adjectives you hope to never use when describing the activity at hand. I don't know, maybe i'm numb, my hormones out of whack. It makes sense in retrospect. I really want to listen to old fall out boy but one of my neighbors friends is outside on his porch and he's quite cute. Don't wanna damage my impeccable rep for good music. Anyway, I've settled on Say anything. Okay back to what is currently weighing on my mind. Ah, sex. Waited longer than all of my peers, dived in head first. I never came up for air. It's too much. I don't want it. I want my innocence back tied in a bright red bow. They can have it all. My stories, my memory. I don't give a fuck about curiosity now that i've seen the far less greener grass on the other side. Curiosity did kill the cat after all. Meow?

Endless, repetitive. Falsehoods. I keep turning this music higher to drown out their vocal chords. I am a corpse typing. The motions derived from puppeteer's hands.

Xray

We get these intense and liberating spur of the moment feelings that we are invincible. We are the select few that will go out in style and make a name for ourselves. We come and go. We sit and ponder. We wilt and we die a little bit for the sake of living. We unleash our inner demons on each other. We play good cop, bad cop with our loved ones. We make mistakes but take them back. We learn the hard way, not the smart way. We choose the road less traveled, (or at least we like to think so). We make master plans. We can’t wait to get out and leave these tattered roads behind us. We get drunk, fuck up, and repeat. We promised we’d never do these things. We promised we’d always be intertwined. We always said we have time on our side. Distance is the only oncoming enemy. We fondle, hook up, and look back on all the guys along the way. Don’t you get it? We ARE invincible. No one can stop us. Just like our favorite songs said. Let’s salvage what’s left and scream while our lungs still produce oxygen. I’ve got your hand, if you’ve got mine.

Old rays.

I’m scared as all hell baby. I wish I could mesh all of my loved ones together, spiral them into my soul, and carry them in my veins with me everywhere I go. You have all made an impact on me. Whether it be good or bad an impact was made. And I think that’s great. I am growing in front of your very eyes. I’m learning how to make eye contact, i’m perfecting my stance. Let’s keep this going. I like this right here. This comfort known as home. This place i’ve nestled and nurtured for so many years now. You sheltered me from the unknown and exposed me to a world I could have never found on my own. Thank you from the bottom of my wrecked heart. I want to swim in your spine and collect memories in this glass jar. Allow me to, please?

I feel bad because sometimes well lets just say i’m way too cautiously pessimistic when my cousin goes out on dates. I’m pretty sure she thinks i’m pissed off because I’m spending a Friday night alone eating Chinese takeout and watching Icarly but that is simply not so. That’s pretty much a great evening in my book. It’s just that I watch her get ready, pace the apartment, clean like an obsessive compulsive and fiddle with her dress. Her knees shaky and her eye on the clock. She’s had a pretty rough go at the dating scene. She’s always leagues ahead of the douche ass dudes she dates. It’s almost infuriating, i’m like a momma cub being far too overprotective. I just want the best for her, God knows she deserves it.

Overdose, mental hospital, and more numbing tragedies compiling in life's glove compartment. Amidst the bills and colored kid drawings. These are the crosses I have to bear. Nosy highschool friends call and give me their rehearsed opinions. Understandbly they might be right. Maybe they should worry even if half halfheartedly. Maybe i'm in self destruct mode. Maybe I am doomed. Toxic tales coming out of the woodwork. Family in their defining moments, showing true colors. Colors soaked in formaldehyde. It's a lot for one girl to take on. I will walk the line, I will carry my head high. I'll keep trying to cross the finish line, maybe I might see some of you there.

I don't ever wonder what he's doing. Or wonder how he feels on certain hot topic issues. I don't care what his favorite color is. Or inquire about his mother's condition. I don't want to hear about how miserable he is. Even how we met was off. A run in that bitterly turned into the burning of a sacrificial lamb. I don't really quite know if my heart has room for two. I think there's a feelings button missing from my wiring. A wicked cricket for a conscience. It makes sense to want some one else's skin touching yours. It makes sense to hate sleeping in a queen size bed all alone. It's a burning sensation, no one is immune to it. But succumbing to mediocre company however does not. Skin on skin can become simply so. It can become comfortable and safe. A safe bet, yeah that. Being alone could truly save some girls souls.

This is a sick breed of sadness. I think about all the dead leaves I trailed in the house. More baggage, more mood swings. More crazy feelings in my veins. The people whose faces I miss stack into piles on my lap. Already treading a high tide, more to think about. More things to pace about. I always wondered how people simply move away. And I did, I packed my years of mess into suitcases and crossed that Louisiana border. I wonder how it'd be if I had stayed.. would I still have these friendships to show for? Would have I truly lived? Would I be alive?

Yeah I want love, but I fight everyday to prevent it.

Love is a topic I am at not of liberty to discuss but here I go anyhow...

Love, an archeological dig, repetitive and demanding. Years of tired techniques and sun scorched skin. Two people entitled to one another. Entitled to the promise of each other. The end all be all kinda love. Absurd pet names kinda love. Drunk in public fighting kinda love. And then suddenly it ends, some one dampers the intense love dynamic. A spear to the core of it, zapping it's credibility. So at the end of the day what do you have? A measly story, a moment in time captured by a camera's zoom which is then interrupted when the pictures at hand burn and fray. You then vow to enter love a little less naive next time. You'll refer to him in past tense and keep his hoodie. You think to yourself he'd make for a great story one day. And all of this, this warped cycle is supposed to entice me? Rather it makes me think that lovers are fools. Playing a blind hand. Betting chips on a sinking ship. I might chirp and squirm but I make a valid point. Can you love if your end result is a foiled plan? Sound off 1,2.

"If neurotic is wanting two mutually exclusive things at one and the same time, then I'm neurotic as hell. I'll be flying back and forth between one mutually exclusive thing and another for the rest of my days."
Sylvia Plath

To be continued..

In retrospect she was meant to be forgotten. Oversize feet, meaty hips, barely there tits, prickly legs. All the makings of a spec of the past. Lips that are a shade too pale, skin that is salty from the Texas sun. Cellulite on the thighs, ratty hair, wobbly knees a prototype defect. Assembly line trash. Made lovable? No, that would require blessings from the gods. A god, any god. Any idol worth worshiping. Good luck doesn't just land into the lap of a gal like her. Any present is coated in grime. Any well intention is hidden behind bad intentioned human beings. Miracle? What is that? In her world the earth was scattered with bad news. Miscarriages, abortions, relationships gone astray, what is there to live for? Maybe the thought of living has become too abstract. Blink and you might miss the art at hand. She wasn't sheltered, knew the shape of a dick by age 14. No, she wasn't outdated, she was far ahead of her kind. She thought of the bigger picture, the Picasso's at large. Cigarette ashes scattered her dashboard, she gripped the world with her index finger. The chipped polish in all it's glory. She knew she was going somewhere. The road maps burned, the compass shattered. She knew that she could piece back together a journey, one that had yet to be completed. So she sighed and changed the awful radio station, foot on the peddle, eye on the prize. To be continued she wrote...

Always lead back the same steep road
Back to my sophomore year, not yet sure of anything
You slip me back in the palm of your hand
I'm quicksand, engulfed in the essence of dissolving in midair.
Magic trick, word play, this all ends the same
You are a frat boy now. Toga parties, keg stands you are a college lad.
I reflect on our younger years, i'm reappearing,
My motive is to be reflected
On the years that are now shrunken into morsels
Pieces of the past, meant to be put back together
Memories can be cruel. The road is getting easier.
I collect into a solid figure and kiss the past goodbye with my movement.

Yet in her mind he still remains "the man-boy who sent her something in the mail." On the rebound because his true love went astray. His heightened impulsive behavior. Like a snake who's only reaction when things don't go his way is to coil his tail tighter. Constricting the vital organs as to make the sensible not so. Girl, your heart is too big, Your brain, his puppet. Puddy in hands as they say. They do say.

Heat stroke.

Concrete, set we dwell

On material things

Engulf our thoughts with unnecessary wonders.

Splitting our mind, dividing our body

Causing a rip in the unison.

Perplexed, we turn to our brain.

The brain wants peace but we turn the other cheek.

We sulk, contemplate, commiserate.

Dead silence, we tried.

And so we wait some more

Yet now we dwell in calm.

Why did I do this to myself again?

What a whirlwind. We sit catercorner to each other, each with our respective laptops and our bonechilling silence cutting the air like a razor sharp knife. We both have our opinions on the world and we both just want some fucking recognition. Dominating the airwaves, sweeping our histories into new story lines in hopes of grabbing the audience's attention. Coming away with a sort of nonchalant victorious undertone. Drinking Pabst, the hipster jungle juice. Maybe we'll take a break and dwindle into our present. Maybe we'll jab some sarcasm into the equation. When you are on a hiatus from your peers you start to question your integrity, even for a millisecond.