And a place to put itchy thoughts. Mosquito ideas that somehow find the bottom of my foot.
I think we ought to read only the kind of books that wound and stab us. If the book we are reading doesn't wake us up with a blow on the head, what are we reading it for? We need the books that affect us like a disaster, that grieve us deeply, like the death of someone we loved more than ourselves, like being banished into forests far from everyone, like a suicide. A book must be the axe for the frozen sea inside us. - Franz Kafka

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One of my infamous Late-Night Rants and Revelations.
I came across a comment that one of my friend’s boyfriend left on her Facebook page: “You constantly make me feel like I’ve won the female lottery.” This has to be the sweetest thing that I’ve ever heard anyone say. Ever. And that’s sad. Because shouldn’t I be with someone who makes ME feel that way? And visa-verse? If I don’t feel this way about who I’m with, I’m probably with the wrong person. If I’m asking these questions now, then there must be something that I’m missing out on. SomeONE. And if I feel like I can do better than this relationship, then it’s probably time to move on.

When a girl sees that kind of thing in someone else's love life, they immediately think: What is wrong with me that my boyfriend doesn’t say those things? Because that is exactly the way that a girl SHOULD make her man feel. So, she thinks: Either I’ve failed or he just isn’t as into me as he used to be, or both. And talking about it doesn’t help. Because then you just seem whiny, super insecure, and “ludicrous.”

Oooo. But I want that.

And it’s attainable. There are many fish in the sea. If THAT girl can get it, so can I.

I want my boyfriend to tell his friends that I’m the shit. I’m the exception to every rule, to every girlfriend stereotype. That I make them feel like a king. Like he can’t go without. I can’t let this one go. Like he pities his friends for not being able to have something so good. And I want to feel the same way.

But our… relationship–

Ahh- I wanted to say love, but it’s not even that. It’s been a year and neither of us have used that word. I’ve certainly felt that way and there are times when I am certain that he loves me too. That’s been a nice feeling. But I don’t think I’ve ever felt like he can’t be without me. And that’s what I want.

I see relationships that are far better than mine. And that’s a big problem.

I don’t feel any different than any other girlfriend he’s had. And that really hurts.

If this ain’t love, then how do we get out?

Our relationship is so… average. Which is far from what I’ve ever wanted.

I should have been born a dude. I could have been an amazing boyfriend.

Mondays breed anxiety. When it comes around it means you’re on the fence. The fence. Obligations and procrastination. Still. Putting off things at the forefront of your mind. You don’t write music, but suddenly all you want to do is that. To put this down and call out. But you never make any sense when you do, do you? Nothing does. Mondays invoke fear. It means that the world is flipped. The carpet pulled out from under you so that your knees hit your face. And its all despicable that you feel that way. That you feel like that. That you feel. Emotional bullshit, if you will. Piled up, right where you leave it. Piled because you have to. Leave it. It doesn’t make any sense. Your focus breaks by the second. The retinas of your mind looking past your school books. The worst is happening right there. In the space where you make up alternate realities. Or see them. Focus. American Literature. Emerson. Scholars. Ideas. Words. Structure. The lack thereof. No! And then you decide to change. I’ll be removed this time. Stoic. Limitless. Bulletproof. Jaded. Go inside. Can’t fucking reach you there. Can’t hurt there. Nothing. Mondays remind you of the risks. Seven days to forget before you’re back in it. Reckless. Letting yourself be lucid. Letting little candles burn that could be fires. You could lose everything. Get really hurt. You could die out there. But still. You handle it like a true Capricorn. One on the cusp of Aquarius. Capricious, indeed. Slowly stewing in the routine of always coming back here. Monday. With my books. And my senseless sensibility.

Tell everyone that its not sad.
It's just easier.
I just want to shut my eyes.
Wont even hear the sound.

It's getting easier to imagine it.
I tell myself that I will come out of it.
All the lonely way through hell.
But I keep coming back around.

I locked you away
like a damsel
High in a tower.
Will it be okay
when the bottle
lets her out?

Be ready for the fall.
She wont let her hair down.

I need to wake up early. Why am I up thinking about this shit?
I want to love like it never
hurts. Be transparent. Uncover
the secret girl under my skin.
I want to take the dare.
Absorb the impact, the bad stuff
and let them sink deep
down, like a ship.
I want to be indestructible.
Immune to sudden loneliness.
All I want to be is soft and fluid in someone's arms.
Like the water you dive into to wash off the city
and the sweat and the smoke and the blood.
But I can't. I can't.

Save me.
I know you can...

The Start. Again.
So much has changed. I am someone else. Again. I don't think I will ever stop changing. That's just what I am, a changeling. Unpredictable. Undependable.

I really didn't want to have to ever start over again. I'm fine and then something reminds me that I'm back at the beginning. It's exciting and I look forward to it, but man was it good to just KNOW. No more questions. Guards down. Because you knew the form. A dance. After your problems came up and you fought, you cried, you solved them. Done. Eventually you can get to a point where you can stand naked without thinking about it. Not think about them for a whole day.

To me, love used to mean that you shared everything. That it was something you teach. This is how I need it. And being alone in my head was the scariest thing. I wanted to be studied like something he wanted to know everything about. Like, if there was ever a test, he'd ace it. Needless to say I was extremely disappointed. Close though. Probably the closest it will ever get. But my point: I wont try that again. Just too complicated in there.

One of the major differences between then and now is that I wont be surprised when shit hits the fan. I still wont know what to do when there is shouting and angry faces and shoving, but at least I know that it's coming. Maybe this time I will surprise myself and do something remarkable, like that thing we do when, out of pure instinct, we absent mindedly pluck a flying object out of the air and save it from breaking. "I dunno how I just did that."

Throwing Punches
The one thing that I have in common with God: The world loves and hates me too. Woman. A crazy, emotional heap of bullshit. That's the mentality that I'm continuously battling against, in one way or another. From everywhere. And I don't know what to do to escape it. The very act of talking about it, right now, is female. When I was younger I went insane because all I wanted was to be so far away from this, but the very nature of thinking about it was, in itself, feminine, the thing I hate but had to be in order to be loved. In order to feel attractive. In order to be viewed as acceptable.

I can still take a joke, though. I take it with gritted teeth. It's still hilarious. Laughing with thorns in my sides, which makes me laugh harder because no one has a god damned clue. I don't want anyone to know because it would make them feel uncomfortable. It would make me exactly the thing they don't understand and hold in a position of contempt. And I wish to be everything that isn't. The exception to every joke, clenched fist and frustrated sigh. I just have to find someone who will let me.

How do I explain all of this to a man who can't find a drop of estrogen in his body and would never understand what it means to struggle for acceptance and respect? Maybe I should just start throwing punches.

I want out
I think I might want out. I have a feeling that my fears are real. So, there are some questions that I need to ask. Or maybe not. Because the fact is, I wont believe the answers I get. Ever. That's just how I've always been. Because I know that everyone can make mistakes. And because I know how easy it is for me to make the same ones. Eventually, something will happen. Someone gets hurt. It already does.

I'd really love to just move away. Tell no one where I'm going and just start over. It would be like dying. Only, everyone knows that I'm okay and no one hurts very much. They'd hurt less if I stayed and let them see me like this.

I want to be fearless. I don't want to be ashamed anymore. I want to finally be what is in my heart. Why is that so hard?

Drums, that heart
If you only knew how my heart does pound at the sound of your drums. Like a wrecking ball through the trees I move faster to keep off of my knees. Violent streams of motion, I can't stop. Something like an electric shock waving on and on. And all I want is to feel this forever. With the drums, my heart, on and on.

If my paranoia were a movie, I'd hit stop, eject it right now. But, unfortunately for me, I am a girl. And the theme continues: I despise being female. I'm not against females. I just hate the way I think because it makes me miserable and its retarded. Fuck. Being. Female.

(no subject)
I wrote something long about how much I hate being a girl sometimes. But then I realized: that's just what a female would do, isn't it?

Fuck that.


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