and still more..

that girl you laugh at
the one you think so little of
is losing her grip and falling faster
than you can come up with ways to distort
to disembowel
she can spit
acid
on all the pictures you paint and try to hide inside
she will not let you forget
she will peel away the layers she will eat the silence
devour
your dirty little lies
she'll get fat and birth what you fear
and smile while you die.

i am scratching this paltry skin
and the paint is chipping
but it will not bleed
get close enough to hear this whisper
this tiny scream
this mirror you beg to break
shhhhh...
shades of green you thought could not exist
will sing you to sleep
and i hope to die

well here we go

so there are colors and words i will forget
especially yours,
cunt!
try taking that dick out of your mouth before you say anything about me
and try schooling your spawn too
neither of you look so good in robes, on pedestals, holding gavels you have not earned
i would love to sew you shut
and someday i will
when my fist stops hurting,
when my eyes can finally shut for a minute
when i can breathe..
will your air ever be as pure?
will i ever stop smelling you
rotting?

i can't do this sober...

no no no
there is a tangled ball of something where my brain was
and a cold hard something where my heart was not
and everythings cloudy and fuzzy and drowning
and im trying to drown out the whispers that are not so quiet
and i am screaming inside myself
and i have had the salty water spill
where i never wanted it to
where no one deserved to see
and tonight i will not sleep
again
and tomorrow
i will try to
be something
i'm supposed to
and i refuse to clean up that mess...

i'm sorry

i'm not entirely sure what happened, or how much of a factor i was.
maybe what did happen was worse than what didn't...i just know that i am indescribably sad and a little hurt, and a lot confused.
and i hope you're ok.

so i guess this is getting dangerous
well i never trusted myself for a reason
combustion
fueled by empty glasses and too-long glances
you can play the part of fuse and i,
ignition

gotta get it out before the buzzing stops and i am deafened by my thoughts falling heart attack numb inside my head where you dance with her so fucking ugly from the inside out stained and broken dirty little puppets without any secrets without any substance your worthless words falling on my wish they were deaf ears if only you knew where i've been finding comfort lately..

i think that being in love with you
should be a diagnosable mental disorder.

let's turn it on, turn it out
forget where i've been
what i've tasted
no matter how close it is
i think we should dance
i think we should drive
into walls, into the ocean,
into something that feels like something
you should've been there
when he touched me
but i'm glad you weren't.

this is all just cables over miles
of avoidance
distraction to delay reflection
numbers that don't translate to breathing
life in 2 dimensions
touch without skin, without thought
these things crash for a reason

courtship in zeroes and ones
back burners still warm might someday burn your flesh to peeling
why was i the one put to silver?
i can't pretend naivete and i've never been a very good liar
razorblade syllables, poetry of memory
lets have a drink and make some more.

this conversation is stale
this cunt could kill you
just give it a minute
give it a reason
get lost get dead get inside
ruin ruin ruin
sweat and lies and pretending
sweet and tangling and choking we can scream until we can't sing
we can share these scars but in selfishness we will hide on
miles of tape and promise
i never looked
not once.

the only thing he sees in her eyes is his reflection
but he will not reflect
too busy building and breaking
praying to no one i believe in
for 7 years bad luck
a reason to be grieving
create
to dismantle
in fiery theories he will show eyes closed tight
another her whos hands he can use to block out any light.

it's a gift to be able to hold a beer and a cigarette in one hand and partake of both without hurting yourself. at least not in the immediate sense. and to be able to feel music instead of just hearing it. these are things i know. i may not know a better half, or any half really...i can keep telling myself i'm ok with that. but i'm not. and enough years have passed for hopelessness to have rightly set in. maybe i can be ok with THAT. maybe that guy was right, maybe losing all hope really is freedom.
sometimes i miss being 16 and drinking 40's of st. ides behind the dumpster at the Rat and sleeping in a car outside some guys house. i miss simpler times when getting a tooth knocked out at a blood for blood show was something to write home about. when all i had to look forward to was another friday night with another band whos singer sounded like cookie monster..when everything didn't mean so much because all we had was time, and nothing to live for. less climbing inside my head, getting lost, distractions are harder to come by now, and needed more than ever. so on a monday, i guess i'll just get fuzzy..

what is this?
it's catharsis!
if you've got it to give i'll swallow it whole
i know these themes are recurrent
redundant
but i'm barely holding on or not at all
and i find freedom in violation
i have not hit bottom yet

there is an anchor.
i am hopeless, but she is not. all my hope is for her. i was lost a long time ago.
i can't decide if it's worse for her to end up like this, being able to SEE, or being a sheep. sheep seem happier, ignorance really does seem to be bliss. sometimes i wish i knew.
instead i want to crash. and i am, just not all at once.
i want to know what it's like to be free.
how far do i have to fall before i know?
i don't envy them anymore. not too much. i've walked in on your lie, seen it myself. all of you have them. and if that's how it's supposed to be, i guess i really don't want it. i don't want to be another complaint, another reason to not have faith. another mistake you can frame and curse and blame.
count me out.

rally legs!

for a long time now, i've accepted the fact that i am going to be single forever. there are times when this has made me sad, or angry, and times when i have enjoyed the freedom in it.
what i realize now, however, is that i probably will not be. i am kind of a kickass girl, and at some point, i will finally meet an equally kickass dude, and we will hang out, listening to the misfits, baking pies, and doing the nasty.
so here's the thing. if you would like to be considered for the role of my kickass dude, there are certain things you will have to deal with. they're not unreasonable, and it will be more than worth it to be in my company. one of the most important things you will have to learn to live with is RALLY LEGS!
i am kind of a big sports fan. especially baseball, namely the boston red sox. while it is not imperative that you be a sports fan, you must be able to understand my fanaticism. you are not required to watch baseball with me, but you may not give me any shit about my watching it. i am not to be disturbed during any games except in an emergency, and in the postseason, don't bother me at all. the postseason is generally where RALLY LEGS! come into play.
during the 2004 alcs, when my beloved red sox were down 3 games to 0, for no particular reason, the day of game 4, i didn't shave my legs. if we had lost that game, we would've been done and the evil yankees would've gone to the world series. well, many extra innings, much nailbiting, and we won. we stayed in it. red sox fans are known for being painfully optimistic, and very superstitious. so, it was clear to me that my leg stubble had something to do with us winning, and therefore i did not shave my legs for the rest of the alcs. we won, we went to the world series. swept the cardinals in 4 games, during which i also had wookie legs. my disgustingly fuzzy legs helped break an 86 year curse. every year since, when the sox are down, the razor is abandoned, and it generally seems to help.
so, if you are man enough to deal with RALLY LEGS!, then maybe you are man enough to deal with me. and because i am a nice person, i will generally invest in cute knee socks during times where RALLY LEGS! are necessary so you don't actually have to touch them.

*none of this applies to yankee fans, as i will never ever touch you.

whiskey and champagne

sleep deprived depravity
i can't pretend to be
something more
or less than this
i can't stand to read your worthless
empty
blood spewing anymore
when i know i am not the reason
for your anything

just because the one who really cares isn't the one you wish it was, doesn't mean you should take them for granted.

some things you should know

i have a reputation as a bit of a badass. most people think of me this way because they've seen me get in a fight, or heard a story about me getting in a fight. or the time i stabbed that guy..truth is i should've been arrested many times, but i'm lucky. i don't think the fact that i can fight makes me a badass. if i am, it's because of where i come from. i am what many of my acquaintances would call white trash. they would use that term with disdain, i will use it with pride.
this is not a sob story.
i grew up with nothing. if there had been trailer parks where i lived, that's where we would've resided. instead it was shitty apartments. my father left when i was 2. my mother tried, to an extent. i don't know how much credit i feel like giving her right now.
i will credit her with forcing me to learn to fight. she took out her frustrations with her life on me. when you're a little kid, this can be confusing. you think your mother is supposed to be a source of comfort and strength. when you hit 13, after a few years of getting the shit beaten out of you for a few years, for such offenses as playing music too loud, or asking for mom and her friends to please shut their drunk asses up since it's 3 am and you have to be up for school in a few hours, you realize this is not always the case. you realize that even mommy cannot be trusted. so you don't tell her about the babysitter who made you do some rather unsavory things, or the guy who drugged you at a party and raped you in his car. or the fact that you feel like dying every minute of every day because the kids at school call you ugly and weird. you hold these things, and in time, you make them yours. you realize the only one you can trust is you.
you become a badass.
you realize you can fight.
the next guy who tries to rape you gets a box cutter buried in his chest. the people who call you ugly and weird are met only with a knowing look. it means nothing now. you realize there is a freedom that comes with scorning the standards society has put in place.
i have no respect for people who haven't struggled a little. and i feel like i know too many of them.

DO YOU

do you mean any of it?

all those beautiful fucking words?

tied up and twisting and choking me?

i am drowning in your eyes and lies and bottles of something to make me think this is life but it isn't and i am running so far so fast and fucking mirrors trying to break them but i can still see me bloody and falling and not wanting anyone to catch me and that train will take me somewhere far from where i need to be and i don't mind at all. it will be so dark

when i get to you 

fuck me

for thinking i could ever get to you

not from here

my rotting 

warm wet insides will be solace for you and maybe even me for a minute or two

please tear them out and wear them like something pretty and don't bother talking words are letters dyslexic and in languages i never understood

where was i

ever

i gave something life and what life will it be?

i've been banished from anyplace that could ever matter

i've been raped by everyone who ever looked at me and saw something other than what i wanted them to

right now i am begging you to do it again

if i had a gun that was not of my own making i would eat it but instead...

this.

judgery (douchebaggery)

if you are my friend you would not judge me. you would not laugh about me behind my back. your perfect little life may be perfect for you, and that's brilliant, but maybe we don't all think the same. we don't need to live the same. it's funny how people who profess themselves to be open minded have so much to say about how someone else chooses to live their life. maybe if you really gave a fuck, you'd ask me why i make the decisions i do, the choices i do, instead of talking about it when i'm not there and then pretending the conversation never happened when i am there. maybe you shouldn't talk shit on someone elses past mistakes when you've all made so many of your own. and maybe if you really did respect me, and know i'm not an idiot then you'd trust i can take care of myself. it's fucking sad that putting someone else down can make you feel better about you. look inside, acknowledge your own faults before you point out someone elses..and you know what? if you feel that strongly that a person is beneath you, maybe you should tell them to their face, or at least not smile in it while shoving a knife in their back. 

fuckery

i can't get this music loud enough and this beer is warm. miss misery wants company...

i can't do this unless i'm stuck inside my head unless i'm stuck in adolescent emotionalism. 

i claim this blog in the name of immaturity!!!!! my ocd makes me type 5 exclamation points!!!!!

it's not as if i have nothing. i have things. i have more than most. i thank baby jesus in his little diaper every fucking day for what i have. i want to learn japanese flower arranging. i want to learn to look at you and feel nothing, not even hate. i want to be your biggest regret. 

words on a screen. everything is so fucking impersonal. phone calls begat texting begat emails. less and less connected with every fucking connection!!!!! as long as we don't have to look at each other in 3 dimensions, we don't have to really LOOK! do we??? memories are flat and dull and we wouldn't have it any other way. 

just know this: you are only a distraction. to keep me from feeling any real hurt. 

late tuesday/early wednesday: disturbing phone conversation. disturbing even to me, so drunk i could barely move. i claim i will be on a plane in the morning. you don't believe me. i don't believe me. 5 hours later i am puking in the richmond airport bathroom. then i'm on a plane. 3 tylenol pm's at 8 in the morning. i honestly believe i am going to die on that plane. there are no words to describe how much i fucking hate flying. 

90 minutes later im at jfk. i buy a book. i sit on a filthy floor. i wonder what the fuck i am doing. i can't eat or sleep and i get on the next plane. almost 6 terrifying, bumpy, hours later i land in slc. 

i am shaking.

a cigarette.

a cheeseburger with pastrami on it. 

i am shaking less. 

there's a shower, a change of clothes. after 15 unanswered phone calls throughout the day, a text message. 

am i there yet?

i am.

i imagined that moment a billion times. 

5 years seemed like 5 minutes. barely. 

we should've gone to vegas. or at least the tattoo shop. 

less than 48 hours, to open wounds i forgot i had. 

questioning my decision to come. maybe i just made it worse. 

it was worth it. 

8 am. i meant every word. 

walking out that door into the taxi was the worst moment of my life. there was only one reason i did it, and you know. you have the same one. 

i thought maybe there would be closure. but not even close. 

i hope you don't get pinkeye.

you may have seen every inch of my skin

every scar

every story

and miles apart on a few feet of sheets and sweat

you sleep

and i search

you sleep and i watch

those bottles of glass and plastic hold no comfort for me

and neither do you

stuck

this mess you made with your eyes

and your hands

i hold it now

and not one fleeting thought 

i never was, not in your way

my forehead burned where your mouth was for a moment

you were never really there

until

you saw the back of my head under the lights of the highway

you couldn't drive fast enough 

but i got you there

even if it wasn't really me

this scenery is different but it sounds the same. there aren't so many tourists or mountains, but there are still plenty of empty smiles and a never-ending  stream of words strung together just so you can hear yourself talking. an expert on everything in your own mind, making the mundane life or death for the sake of argument. years and years have gone by, and the mirror shows me more wrinkles but i'm not sure they've brought wisdom. we are all grayer to the eye, on the surface, but beneath, some of us are the same. stuck. fingers in ears, "lalalalalalalalalalalala"...

funny thing is, it's those you're so critical of, those you see yourself so far above, those are the ones who really see you. all the things you're trying to hide, and the ones you don't bother hiding anymore. it's too bad you can't seem to figure out, there is a freedom that comes with letting go. think of what you could accomplish with all that energy you're wasting trying to impress everyone. noone is impressed. unintentional douchebaggery is never impressive. embrace the douche. give reality a big hug. swallow the truthiness, and try not to choke. 

ode to josh beckett

you are a goddamn sexy bitch. 

that's all i got. 

mlb tv!

is the best thing ever. i got to watch the red sox, and listen to remy and orsillo do commentary! it would've been better had the home plate ump not clearly been on the yankees payroll, contributing to our 1-0 loss, but still! i can watch games! all games! 

i will fight you

so, if you're a 20-something slacker who's biggest concern in life is when you'll next get your dick wet, please feel free to never, ever make snide comments about my parenting, or my child. because be assured, the only reason you still have all your teeth is that my child was present. otherwise, you'd be wishing you had dental insurance and a much higher tolerance for pain. make no mistake, if you make the same comments when the kid is not around, and especially if i've had a few drinks, you will rue the day you were born. you will be calling your mother asking her why she had to bring you into this world. nothing personal, at least not too much, but i will fucking kill you.