Taking a Break:

Until I have something positive to write for you, I won't be writing.  Be safe my dears.  Fight your good fight.  Breathe and live.  We'll get through this.


I'll be back on when I'm positive.

Dueces:

   Tonight, my body will burn.  Because this is the stake with which I'm tied.  I hate this life.



   Anxiety moved in.  I'm just it's housekeeper.

  And now all I want is to leave, and be in New York more than ever.  Blogging and taking pictures and living like I should be.  But it won't come, because it's not the right time.  Because I'm not living. But I'm not dead.  Purgatory. Eternal.  Dearest New York, forgive me.  I'm missing you so.  But I write you this letter from limbo. And I don't know how to get out.  Which fight is the good fight?  What the hell am I doing? And where the fuck am I in this grand scheme?  If this is living?  Hell can't be at all bad.  A vacation spot compared.  And All the while, I pretend pretend pretend.  Like a stupid little girl.

  The devil and god are raging inside me, and I don't know where to draw my sword or when to give in.  I'm losing a ridiculous fight.  I'll dig a grave for the life I'll never have.  My dream.

   One day I'll breathe again.  But smile, that may never come back. Really.

X Marks:

   The spots where I've been erased and taken.  A million little shards of glass. Like stars punctuating my life. A chandelier of time and regret.  
   The pieces of me are fading, autumn colors, leaves and sky. 


    And the birds are flying more South than me. It's so cold.  I am not this. I am not me.  I am.  What the hell am I doing? Besides hating hating and crying and trying.


    It cannot be that.  I have much much more muchiness to give back. 


  I was not made for this era. But maybe decades ago.  I am not capable of this task, of this life such as it is today.  I need to change this low low low.  I say through smiles and falsetto tears, I'm Okay....But....No one knows, no nothing.  And thinking is assuming is making and ass of u and me.  Insomnia meets deadlines blends into days.  When was the last time I slept? 




   I need out.  This is not not not knot what I am made for. Knots in my heart and soul. Anxiety out my eyes.  And I spend my nights in tears and sighs.




      But she's so pretty, in her little white socks that go up to her knees. Wednesday came when Sunday woke, and she's here for me when things are tricky. She curls and wraps into my lap. A blanket of purr and whiskers.  She knows everything and will not speak my secrets.  She holds them in her chest with that rattles that makes her purr.  She doesn't care that I am a crystal-less chandelier.  She does not mind that I am broken.  She accepts it and rescued me.  And she is my heart.

Kids These Days:

Talent:

   Girls: want to know if that guy you're dating is a douchebag?  It'll save you time and effort of giving pieces of yourself to the wrong guy!  Countless hours have been wasted crying over these dickfaces, and I, for one, am so done with dealing with them.  When it comes to dating guys, let alone hanging out with them, I am overly talented and experienced in tracking the worst ones down. I pick them out of crowds all the time.  Seriously.  It's like radar.


   I have years of experience, and even in the South, I find them fast.  And together, we can make sure you're not wasting your time on assholes with cool names, clever lines, pretty eyelashes, lovely kisses or the emotional fuckwitage that is only bringing you down from something better.

   And boys:  Ha. good luck.  Don't let the towel smack you on the ass on your way out.


  

Ze Day After:

   After I momentarily lost my marbles, and reread my last post, I must clarify a few things.

1.) I don't love myself, but I am fine with who I am, most days.  Which is statistically good enough.
2.) I have felt this way for years.  I am not about to change over night to be a people pleaser.
3.) If you don't like it, sorry.



   THIS IS WHO I AM!!!!!!!!


I am small and mouthy.  I am sarcastic and dark.  I am overwhelmingly hard on myself, but it keeps me humble and conscientious. I'm not a bad person, even if you get the idea I may be.  I am my own worst enemy and that's it.

   I DO BELIEVE IN LOVE!!!! I really do, but do I think there is a guy out there who understands me and isn't afraid to stand up for me or sit still with me for decades? notsomuch.  I'd love to be way wrong about this though. Being wrong can be the most fun.


   For now, I'm 23.  I don't have the answers.

Just as Much:

   I live from let down to let down.  I live for let downs. Truly. I'm quite despondent, dark, and stupid.  I catch a lead until it ends and I always know they end.
   Because who would want me like this?

   Love was not made for me.  Things won't change, because I'm so set in my ways and they are ugly. Different. Brooding. Forward and locked away.  How is this attractive?  Easy.It's.Not.


   I'm not apt to change, or find someone to stand still with me and not be frustrated or mad with me.  If there was a god, they wouldn't have made me like this. Genuinely Broken.  I'm just sick of coming up short and realizing I'm not even all the way out of the water when I try and take a breath in.


It's for the best though.  Waking up, day after day, fully knowing I'm painfully awkward and sharp.  Like a piece of glass.  And seasons change, years go by, and I am always alone. I will never wake up to something different, and this is me saying, I am growing okay with this. I hate people anyway.  Why let them in?

 

Quiet!:

   Pressing me like buttons.  A doll with dust on her head.  I am inanimate.  I am.  And I gently watch them. Like Pixar.  My life is a movie.  And they don't even notice, but I'm noticing.  If only it were quiet I could hear better.


   I woke up to something new.  Happiness.  Only know, it's fleeting, but for now it's here.  Like a spider on my wall. At least it loves me for today.


   Because things change.  People and time and seasons.




And I'm in a chrysalis.  

I am Everything I am Not:

   Can you fall in love. in love. with things you may never touch?  Rattle. Shake.Boom. Same old Same old.  The world is burning. Up from the ceiling. And I am a robot.
   I drove to work with the pigments of anxiety smearing the early morning sky. Will I ever wake up to something different? Like children finger-painting onto the floor boards. Making a mess of everything I wish I was.
  
   But I'm going to live for those tiny moments. When life is clear and calm.  Because living for the future means I'm missing the precious pieces of now. A million little ones that determine tomorrow.

   I appreciate the over. and over. Not the routine. I am your stunt girl. My heart is your scribble. Erase Erase, try again.

One day, it'll come.
But I'm working on my tomorrow.
The praying mantises and cockroaches know I'm working on it. This much.
And the armadillos die, resting assure it'll come, because surely it always does.


 



  

Know, No, No:

I love you.
And I love you forever.
And I'm loving you now.
Andyoudon'tevenknow.


Reality is just.........I don't have the words.

Product Placement:

Starbucks Pumpkin Spice Latte: yes, please.
Urban Outfitters: can I be a model?
Coach: soon those Stefanie heels will be mine.
Dior: Miss Dior Cherie
It's Kind of a Funny Story.
Margot and the Nuclear So and So's.
Facebook.
Twitter.
Hewlett Packard.
I love my job. I love IT. I just wish I knew how it worked better.

   Today I won't be talking in code.  Even though that's how it is in my head every second of every day and night, no lies, I dream in broken sentence structure and emotional prose.  I have an incredibly hard time writing up a proper paper anymore. Because most of the time, I have to really sit and think about verb and subject agreement, punctuation, and paper tense.  When even in my own mind, that's not how I work.  I'm choppy and broken.  Little and short. Bits and pieces of a collection of chaos blended with emotion and love.  Or pain.  Or confusion and anger.  That's life. Right?  And Starbucks and Facebook keep us connected and awake. Movies and music give us something to experience, and designer perfume keeps us smelling fresh and flirty.  Even when no one has any desire to flirt with a crazy.tiny.music.obsessed.nerdy.girl.


Light hearted and breezy.  Today was okay.  Even with anxiety and a cold.  I'm moving forward. Slowly. But Steady.
 

Uncover, Undercover:

   Here, sweet thing, have a riddle.

   Take four parts of original whole honest emotion mixed with four parts not interested.  Add a dash of loathing and anxiety.  Crack open some ribs and add a smidgen of sexual tension.  What do you get?
   Let me tell you, children.

   The answer is one trash-filled bittersweet not-even-fair story of real.

   What's worse, is my heart is hanging from a thread.  And the ends are fraying.  (And I'm not the only girl who knows this, and you're not the only boy running with scissors. We are two of four I know for sure.)


   Do me a favor, burn out before I wake. Save me the restless lifetime of what if. Or fall through bombs of trust and an infrastructure only you built.  Come out come out, I say. And be real for me.  For just this. I promise, I'd shine.

Youwantme, ordoyounot? I can't play today. You win. You always win, because my ace of hearts is in your hands asshole. And darling, I'm lost.  In a deck you hold.

   Bake it in cakes for me. And feed me these lines, with spoons you don't clean.

Hot Mess:

   Children, my head is going to explode.  Don't look at my that way.  And this girl is getting sick, off allergies and loneliness.  I'm drowning.  And I cry almost every night. My chest can't rise and fall.  My lungs can't take it in. Because the weight of it all is holding me down like cement shoes in a river.  Heavy heavy boots. Size 5 1/2.  Disguised as ballet flats in sequin black or shiny gold.
   And I'm wasted. The NyQuil, I can still taste it.  Please take this flu.  I hate medicine. I hate. I hate. So full of it.  I am so sick.  Of myself.

   I want outer space.  I want a new obsession.  I can't move forward.  Stuck like bricks in a forgotten wall.  I've imploded like a nova.  It's like pouring kerosine on a fire. Burn. Bum Bump. Bum Bump. I'm never the one I was in life. I've said it before. I've been here before. I'm always here still.
   Nothing is going to work right. I've lost my head. Because how can I explode and implode at the same time?  Easy.  Only I could.  Because only I am that wrong and broken and stuck.
  And I wish I could breath myself invisible.

   Fact:  My blood is lighter fluid, and my heart is a machine.  My thoughts are the oil that make me willing.  And ready to go.scream.cry.choke.back.hold.it.in.be.be.be.

  I am the most perfect mess of things. Tangles of strings and noises and very little color.
And I hope no one reads into this. Because you won't get it.

 ......I feel everything. 

You're Everything:

   I don't know you.  But I dream. About you. About your heartbeat and hands. 

   I'm sorry I'm not more. Muchier. I'm sorry I'm incredibly small and extremely timid. I can't talk to you the way I wanted to. It's the way the world moves.  It makes me heavy and I'm not made if these things that real people are made of.  I'm made up and comprised of bits and strings.  Buttons and rocks. I'm dense. 

   Is this even living?  The way the veins tangle and make it up.  Short circuited and flash banged into this thing called me. Truth and dreaming.  Darling, I'm sorry that I'm not the way you dreamed.  But you're my every fiber and thought.  And it can be mistaken for loathing but one day, maybe, we'll meet.  And maybe I'll be something more. 

   The ocean is bleeding salt.  And the air smells like home before it snows. I've got a dollar in coin, and nothing to my name.  Worse.  Woe. Worn.  A hundred thousand times.

Can I keep you? Please come. I owe you everything.

Lost.

Spinning.

I saw another shooting star, and it made me think of you. 

It's just the headlights, man.

I hear your voice in my head. It sure feels nice on my brain.  Calm. Comfort. Quiet.

I never had the blues. Like this. Muchier. Incredibly loud. 

A hundred thousand times, I'm sorry I'm not more.

Like a crooked tree. Strange. Ripples in my hair. 

I heard you whispering. You're Everything.