I Can Hear It

"I can hear it callin' me

the way it used to"

“If a tree falls in the forest and no one’s there to hear it, does it make a sound?
I’ll go down quietly but you’ll feel it…”

"and if I broke your heart last night

it's because I love you most of all"

527

Dear picnic,

I pretended to be you, I used to be about to.

I bear my soul and am taken aback by its ugliness, I fear most that's what you'll say, "this is so ugly".

You Don't Know

And that's what you have to say about us? After all the time? And everything?
You haven't processed.
Well feel free to finally give me a call, 
as I've been doing enough processing for all of us,

I'll tell you what to feel.

I don't wanna grow up to be a peice of shit like my father 
but it's so hard

Be Missing

"I wanted to say I’m sorry 
I never got clean for you 
Like I wanted to do so badly 
And everything I knew, I forgot 
I will shed this stupid body 
I will grow tall and be someone new 
When I do, you can come find me 
But until then, I’ll be missing for a while”

There's a Difference Between What Is and Isn't

"Fifty hour work weeks
and a dangerous amount of down time"

(Ugly Bitterness)

Good, I'm glad everyone is getting the opportunity to heal, and is healing. I personally hope to sit here and rot and fester like the wound that I am. I am sick of waking up at 530, it is so cold and dark, reminding me only that I am the same.

Houses and Sets

She said she would keep her copies of the keys.

It wasn't the first set, could not even be last.

I'd give her anything if I could, I can't say a word, and honestly sometimes she's not open to understanding them anyway. 

This means so, so much more to me than I could explain.

Waiting To Wake

I'm so fucking traumatized, I can't even think straight. How long can you reel? This is so much like a nightmare version of my life, I cannot fathom doing anything that would mend it, it's like a dream you have to wait out, wait to wake.

Trader Joe's Salad

For the first time in my life (memory) I feel uncertainty, pertaining to myself. I am not sure what is my fault. I create a throne of empty boxes, and sit in the one chair, unable to get anything done. I sit here now, in my underwear, saddened by the notion that my creative mind will go un-utilized, my whole life, and mull over all of the reasons for that. 

Today I woke up between 5am and 5:30am. I put almond butter on an apple, put it in my bag, drank my too-strong coffee, and left before 7am. I clocked out of work at 10:28am, not wanting Lance to watch me sort through files on my work computer trying to find my driver's license number to put on a rental application, for $21 an hour. I ate a salad, I took an unusual nap, I dreamt of Morgan Ranch house. I felt sorry for myself all day, and will go to an open house tomorrow at 10am, I will do laundry, I will deal with the recycle but not table situation. This was pointless to write, and I wish to remember totally none of this.

“We assume others show love the same way we do — and if they don’t, we worry it’s not there.”

Just Like Everyone Else Who Doesn't Feel Anything

I miss when you loved me, I miss when it was us. I don't know how to talk to you anymore, it's like foreign waters. I am treading, and there's just so many options, it's like a choose your own adventure, I look out and see all the variant ways that this could go. It's so devastating every second, and I guess you are just like everyone else who doesn't feel anything. No ones at fault, but I miss us.

All of the White Men Who Ever Tried to Help Me

It felt like a lover's tryst, where I was stolen away, for the sole purpose of the pertinence of me being both praised, and respected. Nothing said sincerity, and longevity quite like a secret your faces don't quite show en passing. During the discussion, I was asked two questions that made my life worth living, although intrusive and slightly offensive, I would hold onto these words in the darkest of nights. The first inquiry was to find out if I still "wanted to be here, although all of my friends have left me, and are at home", to which I simply replied "yes". The second, not so much a question, but a proposition quickly turned promise, was payment in every form, aside from an increment on the number of my weekly pay stub. Being told that they did not intend to pry, engulfed me in a momentary feeling that I was worth 'prying', that is to say, worth anything.

("He left you, didn't he?" A question I discovered would more truthfully be answered with a yes, than a no. I spoke, "It's fine", which is obviously a phrase I only use when it is not, or when I am crying in someone's face.) The door swung shut, and seconds later I had collapsed in the nearby, and only chair. I cried desperately, with my left hand covering my mouth and lower half of my face. I felt precisely like Kiera Knightly, meaning dramatic, and not beautiful. I proudly basked in the idea of crying at my own feelings; being the character in the movie, not crying for myself through the character in a movie. I recovered only two hours later, and got in the shower.

By the time the water was hitting me, I had come to culmination that I would let my actions run their course. Simply put, I did not have to dismantle these relationships single-handedly, arduously; time would do it for me. Natural distance would occur, and my sensation of control could remain totally and completely in tact, having the knowledge beforehand.

I would mistake loneliness for solitude, again, fall asleep late and sugar-bellied. A nightly phone conversation would suffice, tiding me over until the next, in a string of nearly-enoughs. Everyone is right about one thing, which is there is no one here, and the hangers hang still in the barren closet, I can't decide anything, but to tell you what I am feeling, you don't respond anyway.