the greatest story ever told

This is not the Great American Novel.

(This is a novel about a girl, which everyone knows disqualifies it from being Great.)

(Actually, it probably disqualifies it from being American too, because everyone knows that girls aren't human people, so obviously, they can't be American.)

(Besides, who'd want to be American anyway?)



(hoory for making it to post 75. who'da thought.)

just breathe

can't quite catch it
in the back of my throat
under my ribs
crawling in my veins
slithering around my stomach

now is a good time

panic

like my point of view

being in the middle would mean that there are things on either side
but that's not right
i'm all alone

burned bridges and forgotten friends
drifting separation due to nothing at all
it's a pathetic sort of feeling when love just gutters out
not bang, not smash, just the dying whisper on a wind too weak to carry my words fourteen hundred miles
i'll blame the interloper for all this mess until i can't deny what's true
i'm just not good enough for her

i couldn't sell fire in alaska, much less hell, tbh

the fact of the matter is that there is not fact of the matter.  it's entirely subjective, facts are entirely absent from this situation.

the other fact of the matter is that it will be okay if they kick me out.  it will not be awesome, or cool, or great, but it will be okay.  (i promise) 

never going to rock the suburbs, that that's probably for the best.  i don't have any whiteboy pain.

meet me in the middle

the only thing i want when i'm here is to be somewhere else
and the only thing i want when i'm there is to be back at home with you
cliched i know
but right now
i can't lie
the place i want is just wherever i'm not

keep it dim in the middle of the night
hiding from the sleeping world
keep it bright in the middle of the day
so they know where to find me

but keep it seperate, keep it away
never the twain shall meet


if you can't dance, there's someone else in line

like you were the first to listen (to everything we said)

soulsick and tired and heartsick and bitter and just too tired to care much at all. it's completely stupid for a multitude of reasons, most of which involve me being painfully practical, but i'm still mad about loosing the closest thing i've ever had to a soulmate. she was one of the best things to ever happen to me, and for all intents and purposes, she's gone. and i hate her girlfriend. team me=0 team world=ALLOFTHEM

i'm back to having trouble breathing in all the way, and i don't know if it's because i'm run just that ragged, or if i should actually be medically concerned. but seeing has i have no time and less money, i'm going to stick my head in the sand and put my money on the first one, and hope it goes away at christmas.

i've also discovered that i am most pleased when el portable music player made by popular computer manufacturer is turned up to eleven, aka much louder than i should be listening on a regular basis, especially if i want to continue to listen to music for the rest of my life. on the other hand, sometimes it's the only thing that shuts my brain down enough for me to keep putting one foot in front of the other, so what's a little long term deafness when you have continued survival? i'm not back to being vaguely suicidal, but it might also be because i'm just too damn tired. it's not as bad as last winter. i don't think.

it makes no difference if you're black or white

you're a super star/that's what you are

sometimes
it's just not worth it
not worth the blood or the tears
not worth the hole gnawing it's way through my gut
not worth anything at all
not worth the headache
not worth the missed sleep
not even worth a fucking papercut

today, its not fucking worth it

if I were better

if i were better
i would be able to fit more hours into this day
if i were better
i'd have enough time for everything
if i were better
i'd know just exactly how
to make everything fit
if i were better
a kindly old woman with a stern face would hand me a magical talisman
that would make time appear, magically
if i were better
if i were good enough
if i was

die another day

frustration on top of apathy
passive aggression
and bloody tongues
tired eyes and unsaid words

this is how it ends

you think i don't know

i know where your voice sleeps
i know what your hands keep
i know where your heart lies
i know when your heart lies

i know what you fear
i know what you love
i know what you hate
i know what you are


i'm not stupid
i know a lot of things
i know a lot of things
about you

hear the beating of my heart

she's not angry anymore
but i sure as hell am
i'm angry about the birds and the bees
i'm even still angry about the goddamn trees
i'm angry about bad parents and worse teachers
i'm angry about killled dreams and hollow people
i'm angry about invisible blood and stashed bags
i'm angry about acceptance and futility
i'm angry about playing the game the way it was ment to be
i'm angry about everything there is here under the sun
i'm angry about scraping by
i'm angry about selling my soul
i'm angry about no good choices all bad comprimises
i'm angry that misery is so cheap
and happiness costs more than i can afford
i'm angry.

on the eocassion of our anniversary

it's a bit premature, but just let me say it

i've made it a year
one more down, a few more to go
another year older and not a bit wiser
counting down till it all just stops

not looking forward, only ever down
keeping it going, don't stop now
if i can't see where i'm going
and i can't see where i've been
i'm better off this way
more numb at least

it felt like something was supposed to change
like something was supposed to grow
like it was all magically supposed to be better
somehow
someway
like magic or wishes
but it doesn't work like that

so i've made it another year (or just about)
and i'm holding my breath for the big surprise
or something that's close enough
i'll just keep believing in lies and pretty stories
and maybe it will end up being true
maybe it does get better next year

keeping secrets in a box

less and more and never enough for anyone but me
too queer but not enough gay
like bi only without the sex
only ever enough for me myself and i

its a hard knock life, it's true
just waiting around, kickin my shoes
but they're not like the ones that i'm supposed to wear
if you take a second look you'll see
they're even faker than me, than me

she said it's a matter of personal integrity and i want to believe her
she said it's about honesty and discarding bullshit
i want to believe her
but i don't
i don't believe a word of it (a hint: the best part is the lie)

because i'm still angry anymore
i'm still mad and disillusioned
i'm still me in a box
taking all comers and spitting them out
i'll take what i need and leave the rest behind
you don't deserve my best
you don't deserve me, you don't deserve me

i'm better than you'll ever be
but you don't even know it
i'm better than you ever knew
and you just can't see it

because i'm just right, perfect for me
entirely sufficient and quite complete
i'm just right and perfect for me
but too much and not enough for anyone else

it isn't what you think it was

so tired of being dirty
let me cast it off for a while
an hour, a minute, three breaths
across my cheek
let me be as i used to be
(what i think i was
what i want to have been)
a while
unknowing and unseeing
fresh and unsullied by the cares of the world
let me be white like dresses and fresh like roses
freshly plucked from your mothers garden
and tucked behind ears
(but maybe it wasn't so easy
small thorns catching on tender flesh
drips of blood staining pale cloth)

oh, for what never was.