I've got a somethingsomething for every occasion (eat your heart out [you wouldn't know it's you in a million years])

i am the gender-neutral reigning royalty of denial. if it never happened, it never hurt, if it never hurt, then dearly beloved we are, the most perfect friendship i've ever had. don't knock it till you've tried it, mes amies. everyone needs the little lies to get through, and if the little ones turn into big ones, then it's no worse than everyone else ever. lies, my dear, are my way of saying i love you (i'm supposed to love you).

i've got more faults than san andreas, each and every one more precious than gold, or the internet (i need both). giving them up is an exercise in futility, except not. i remember when willpower and dreams made my life easier than leaping mountains in a single bound (or at least remembering reading about it in a book). (parenthetical asides are gods gift to me, and i love them.) it just seems to get harder the farther i go, and there's no room for breathing.

except when i do as lovers do, and live the way that everyone is supposed to (i'm supposed to), and then it's like a dash of cold water to the face. maybe the normals are on to something. amazing how little things add up to (if not happiness) contentment. no more no less, but there are worse things in this world than to be a mindless drone, drifting across tepid seas on aimlessly content with the little things, uninterested in anything beyond the sides your your boat.

to each their own

the problem is, the golden rule is a goatfucking lie. my golden rule says to shut the fuck up and leave me the fuck alone. you're golden rule says pay attention to me and act like you care. well i don't fucking care and i don't want to pay attention to you and i wish you'd stop fucking paying attention to me. fuckoffanddie.

lighter than air

i like the idea of it
of sending out messages in cracked bottles with rotting corks
doomed to reach no one
privacy in a public forum
anyone can read this
but no one who matters
will know it's me

the one they laugh with
the one they lie with
the one they dream with
the one they eat with
the one they work with

i am hidden behind a pale green layout
(not so typically me)
behind a computer screen
behind a keyboard
behind my hopes and fears
behind my fear of intimacy
my fear of being known

i like the idea
of saying terrible things (i for one can see no blood)
hopeless things (hearts and wrists intact [you allegedly slit])
and no one can respond (sitting in a honeymoon)
enforced silence (if i woke up next to you)
the helpless ghost audience

ghost, because i'll never know if there is one or not
not that it would matter.
you still don't know me.

this is a confetti-filled balloon, meaning nothing, and even less likely to be seen anyway.

it's for the best.

never have i loved

rekindling an old love with something that can never love you back is sometimes the best way to go.

today it rained
my hands ached
for something to come out of them
something good


hurtssogood

i keep it close because it's all mine

i like the way it aches
i could compare it to bruises
fresh or old
yellow or blosoming purple under my skin.

never gone, never over
but never that instant of impact
the stuned rush
sudden jerk
the rug is pulled and i can only fall.

so i'm not falling (i've been falling)
i'm not landing (bouncing maybe)
scrapes across my soul
oozing clear fluid
and dots of blood

this will leave a scar.

not actually a good idea.

you ever do something that you knew was kinda dumb but not actually that big a deal to get a specific reaction from a specific person and have them miss it completely? yeah, that sucks. makes me feel dumb too.

toobadsosad. waitingforsundown.

"i'm only going to say this once and it doesn't make me think less of you as a person, but i'm glad that you don't understand and never will, it means you are doing better than most."

breath it out now

it gets easier. forgetting for hours at a time, distracted by the minutae of day to day living. eating cupcakes, talking to friends, saying stupid shit, spending money on things i don't need. it all helps to pass the time.

then i remember.

i also discover than i am, as previously discovered, still shit at recognizing a hand that is reaching out. maybe it isn't so surprising that i am found wanting.

i wouldn't be enough for me either.

a bedtimes story to give you nightmares

once upon a time, a little girl found a best friend on the playground. together, they ran and jumped and climbed and played. on the weekends, they went to each others houses and played with each others dolls. they were inseparable. then one day, the little girl found out that her best friend in the whole wide world had another friend. her world crumbled.

eventually, she recovered (mostly). she went on to find other friends, but there was never another 'best'. but even so, it happened again. and again. and again.

there was never a happily ever after. just getting sucker punched in the face, over and over. sometimes even literally.

good night. sweet nightmares.