Nothing is alright; but what’s raw has always kept me away; what’s true has always turned me off; I have built myself armor against what’s real.

I have gotten very accomplished at pretense.

This doesn’t make me anyone; this makes me, as far as I can tell, as honest as I can be; this makes me part of everyone.

And yet, instead of camaraderie, all things are revealed, as with a timid knock, to have been hollow.


at the end of everything what it turned out to be was that I wanted to kiss everyone and let go of this the very idea that I was close or closed or held or holding–

at the end of everything it was only I that could occupy the space, it was only me here after all– lips left at last alone but with stories and ideas and memories of joining with others for moments and moments that disappeared with every breath–

it’s nothing, after all. if even I could breathe life in, it must be easy– there doesn’t have to be a reason.

sometimes reason was when our skin touched, when you & I weren’t afraid to share the space between, and that’s all there could or all there had to be.

in the yards and yards of rippling fabric we can be open and soft, even alongside the frost that lives in our veins here– we are– we were– always going to be creeping to something frozen, and even when I was warm among you I did not believe that this would last–

even the stars in the sky will someday die– but to fade away is to have been, and to have been was once to be and there is nothing really but being and the warm gold air in the summer and the endlessness of blue when it’s over.

I am constantly at odds with myself.

Sometimes when I feel like this I need to watch movies I’ve seen before where everyone has feelings they’re allowed to show so I can just cry about what happens in the movie and stop thinking about not feeling alive unless I feel alone.

In this movie right now Kristen Bell is running away from her real job to live at home and be a lifeguard instead. Sometimes I think about being a teenager and whatever else I used to be, with a bedroom that felt like mine and a series of bookmarks on my browser that mattered and occupied my time. Comics on the internet and books that were anything. The sun and the wind and the kind of thing that is in front of you.

Peace and quiet and open air.

In the last one Jennifer Grey wore peasant tops and bathing suits outside like it was all just fine. I sort of don’t believe that’s possible.

Passion is not something I have time for. I have too much and not enough time for anything. I’m letting myself be so hackneyed and cliche now. Soon I won’t just be some of what I hate, but all of it. I don’t want you to forget about me.

WordPress would have me amplify these posts. I don’t have the heart to tell it that no one wants me to amplify the whiny poems I write on the internet. I mean. I don’t, so.

trigger word

at least when she cries
she has something to do.

staying busy is probably the best thing you can do,
but at least when it isn’t, you can kill the people
who lied to you and said it would be.