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