basically obviously

I'm in this circus alone
my own personal sideshow

my mother was born in october
on a chilly night at the end
when everyone stared at the sky
and wondered about more

with that wild grin and
smart outfit
is there anything you've found
that will guide you?

I was raised in a place of enhancement
where everything shined
a bit more than it should have
where everyone knew
all the secrets we kept
and they shared only when it'd help them
which was always
those creatures sharing always

it was a place

where people were small
and their minds were smaller
where fresh air was part of the deal
and every climbed mountain
had been climbed before
where the wildlife was free to eat lawn chairs

where mistakes
that you made
when you're only 5 years old
are held against you 'til you're ancient

and everything's written in the yearbook of mind
and the fiction mutates into truth

I want to sparkle one day
and grow up and care about everything

but i'll leave when it's half done
and leave when i find you
and i'm left in pieces wanting everything
i can't have

every night i wish i had the courage to get high
and forget that i'm real
like fireworks in the summer
and i want to stay here all day
staring at you
and answering your questions about my personal
circus

it's so easy for you to walk by
and smile into the window
and whisper that you care about me
how i care about you
and you make it so easy to laugh
and you make it so easy to cry
you haunt the thoughts i have
and the ones i've had

the first reference to this map of me
where my grampa can't remember me
and his wife long gone
the one who quietly left
who escaped her dusty body
that didn't have the strength to keep her in anymore

like a swinging trapeze these parts are clear
then not
close and then
so far
so far

one sunny day in the winter
i'll have the strength to promise me to you
and maybe you'll agree to have me
and stare at me
and not at the sky

but you leave when you've found me
and broken me into a thousand
shivering pieces

you grind up my defenses
and sleep in my bed
next to me
without contact

Do you believe i've never seen a firefly
or the world?
or the coast of the country that holds me?

i used to be a beautiful version
of me
now the only i i am is
gone with all of my make-up on
but i'm hiding under the bed

so there's the gunshot
hit the gas
go go go
you leave such a mess when you go

on paper you're the flawed one
in reality you've curried favour
and heart
and this honesty pulled from me
that was so unexpected
but necessary

so what i want to do is capture your attention
and grin at you until my sides hurt
and i feel like i'm going to puke

i just need to shake the inspiration that sucker-punched me
it rushed into my bones
i can feel you in my feet and in my toes
you were not a surprise
i can't underline you
enough

or maybe yjntim.

venues

I almost made the mistake of using an innocent friend as a venue to express my disappointment, only because I knew he would understand.

I then thought better and, in realising that I needed to have it out but still in, decided to write you (in)directly instead.

Dear Inconsiderate Ass;

You've done it.

You've disrespected me again. And in favour of what? Your new, 18-year-old fuck buddy?

There are myriad reasons I can think of:
1. You do not concern yourself with my feelings because you don't care.
2. You know that my giving nature is to remember, but inevitably forgive, usually only in your case.
3. You see me as a trifle instead of as the very best friend one could hope for, being all-giving, all-sharing, all-supporting, all-everything. My value is lost on you.
4. You really are that fucking dumb.

This is not the first unsent missive aimed telepathically in your direction.
By now, I doubt very much that it shall be the last.

But I tell you, son: I am so sick of your shit.
I might have to bitchslap you and make you cry in order to show you how I feel when you disregard me so.

I've expressed these thoughts to you, but I imagine they were considered to be another shining representation of how little I can possibly mean, because how can it be that bad if I'm talking to you about them instead of screaming at you and crying?

I didn't scream at you because it's disrespectful and counter-productive. I didn't cry because I didn't want to seem "emotional" or "irrational", which I would have, to your feeble little mind.

I told me and I told you that I wouldn't let you make me cry again, and yet here I am, a headache growing and regret flowing.

The little red flags grow brighter and hotter than the big ones, just so you know. You just keep raising them with your stupid little "oh, I didn't think"s.

Fucking think about me, asshole.

I think about you.
- I remember that you hate Dallas Green, so I change the station or turn down the volume when you're in the car.
- I'm tutoring you in my beloved subjects to help you.
- I'm doing your goddamned homework.
- I've dropped everything for you because you needed me and come running.
- I've scrubbed gravel out of your gaping wound, and nursed you back to usefulness.
- I've driven you when you needed a lift, and counselled you when you needed some wisdom, and always told you the truth, hard or not.
- I've never, EVER lied to you.
- I've never, EVER screened your call.
- I never, EVER "didn't think".

I don't do these things because I'm in love with you; I'm not.
I do them because I love you. And I respect you. And I hold you dear.
Clearly, these feelings are not reciprocated.

I don't know what to do with you now.

Sincerely, go blow yourself,

R...

crutches

one day i'm going to be more than adequate
and i will stir this life with my teeth

i'll get up and mean it
and mean something at the same time
instead of meaning everything and by default
nothing
all the time

so one day
on my way out of adequacy
and into excellence
i'll get over everything that's holding me back
everything i'm settling without
and mean something
to maybe someone
if they can get past the list
of reasons
i always seem to have

how disjointed i am
how headached i am
how crippled i am by all this
how troubled i am
how deserving i am
of all of my lack of a bliss

the cup of tea

I reread the conversation we had a year ago
And none of it belongs near me anymore
All the anger has flown like birds on a wind and
Like flight on a foot it’s gone and is never to be seen

Tomorrow we’ll go for tea like it never happened
And pretend that never a tear was shed
That every phone call between now and then has
Disappeared

Maybe we’ll talk about it someday,
But today is just about this future we have
And that it’s about us
As friends

Maybe I’ll send you a postcard from the part
Where our friendship is in one piece
And I’m not in love
With you anymore

We’ll eat Chinese food at the scary place
At the top of the hill
And talk about how one day we’ll be real
Musicians and make truth scream from our lungs

No one believes in the hours we’ve
Spent getting to know each other
In every way but carnal
And tomorrow we’ll go for tea like it never happened

You were there to wipe the tear streaks from my face
And to call me when I needed you
I wonder how long it will be until
You are my home and I
Mmmmmm

I’ll never want more than you
To make me tea and pretend the complications never
Happened
Where we can discuss all the big things that have
Happened to each other and apart

Where every thought has
Mmmmmm
Where every secret is still kept and
Mmmmmm
I don’t want anything more than
To have you make me a cup of
English breakfast with sugar
And throw a football until
I’m one of the guys again
And I’m not really alone
Until you leave and
Mmmmmm

There are pieces of me
Dependant on you
And you are it for me in that
Regard
And I can’t wait until I get
To the part where you can distract
Me from the you that takes up my ideal
Mmmmmm

Yes I’ll drive you to work until
You specifically ask me not to
And I’ll get home and be all right
Not waiting for hours again and again
For you not to come see me

I just want more than anything
For you to come here and tell me
Nothing ever happened
And it’s all good and that we’re irreplaceable
And we have the stamps of approval to move on

And I’m shocked it’s taken this much out of me
But I can’t show you
Because you have it all locked down
Mmmmmm
And one day we’ll be drinking the tea you’ve made
Like nothing ever happened.

the person you were

I've fought for the last months for the person you were;
the person no longer around.
The one who now would rather be with anyone who didn't call them out
as often as it feels I have to you.
A solution would be your not lying to me anymore; I wouldn't have to
call you on it then. Or, maybe you could learn how to better lie.
Then I wouldn't catch you every time.
I wish it were easier to let you go.
I wish it were harder to know that I have to.
I deserve more respect than you show me and you've moved me into a distant, obligatory acquaintance who will pretend she thinks everything is fine,
when really,
I see just as well as you do how cowardly you are being.
Ironically, this is the thing I will not call you on.
Because I deserve better than to have to tell my friend when I know he is being
dishonest.
And if I'm the only one with a
backbone
and a little self-respect,
then I feel
sorry
for you.
The man you were would have enjoyed the places you are going to see a lot more than the boy-whore you've made yourself become. These experiences for you, with your
fingers-in-ears, la la las,
will mean less than if you had walked out, eyes open to the world and all it's wonders and wounders.
Without a perspective on how much hurt there is, how can you feel the real pleasure?
I've never been anywhere, but I know that.
What a waste.

So I mourn the loss of you the Man, and turn and walk away.

the character you possess

show me who you are, please.

YOU. the one in the front row, telling me you're my best friend. YOU: the one who blew me off to have sex with the Russian whore, then ignored me for 2 weeks.

YOU. the one who sits slyly by and tells me how attractive I am. YOU: the one who made out with my friend while I was at work and lied about it.

YOU. the one who values me "more than [I] can comprehend". YOU: the one who raped girl-code by making out with my crush.

YOU. the one who has "never told anyone so much in my life". YOU: the one who has earned my trust and love for being real.

YOU. the one who has given me more self-security than I had ever thought possible. YOU: the one who I believe I will be friends with forever.

YOU. the one who is supposed to be a support system, a mentor. YOU: the one who talks about me with EVERYONE ELSE when I'm down the hall.

YOU. the pseudo-artistic one with whom I shared a night of make-out fun. YOU: the one who calls out a good friend for being successful and willing to promote himself tirelessly.

YOU. the one who is immensely talented and truly supportive and endlessly giving. YOU: the one who will be the first person to be my fan.

YOU. my mother. YOU: the one who will love me for always, no matter what I get pierced.

YOU. my sister. YOU: the one who can be counted upon to make silly decisions which will out-silly mine any day of the week.

YOU. my father. YOU: the one who wants to be the supportive daddy after all these years, but can't quite bring himself to admit it.

YOU. me. YOU: the one who has a red-flag policy and sticks to it.

the lies you tell

Being this perpetually single girl isn’t as much fun as people seem to believe it is. I’m constantly approached as a possible instrument of sexual favors which only seems to enhance my singleness when I decline to participate. Honestly, as attractive as you are, your slurred proposition does nothing but make me think I’m worth only what someone will try to convince me of; in most cases, that you’ll “run [my] show”.

Recently, I have begun to believe that people have no recollection of their words or actions when they are drunk, and since I’m only surrounded by functioning alcoholics, deadbeats, and assholes, I am therefore completely on my own.

And as much as I would love to have free and casual sex with someone other than myself, my aloneness hinders my self-esteem to the point of absolute self-disdain.

In the last few weeks, I’ve been told the following:

- You’re beautiful

- You’re sexy

- You’re incredible

- You’re an amazing girl

- I really, really like you

- I’d do anything for you

- I want to take you home with me

- I’ll come in and ask you out when I’m sober

- I’ll give you the time of your life

All hollow; all drunkenly sincere but not soberly repeated. I’d love to believe these things to be true, something more easily done were it not for the fact that I’m only comparatively prettier than my co-workers (all of whom have long-term boyfriends) and the only sober girl in the room.

All of the women I work with, while they are half my size, complain to me about their obesity. I’m by no means thin, but neither am I fat. I should lose 40 pounds, though. I’ll not eat, then I’ll be better. I’ll be able to attract someone for keeps. I’ll be immensely successful.

Soul-dier

I am still a walking contradiction
In-depth and in deep here I do march
Though I want not to suffer this affliction
And yet to many this is but a crutch.
Creating all this equal it be measured
With lowered expectations I survive
In every mourned emotion comes up feathered
To groom of malcontent I be the bride.
Ecstatic be the people sat before me
In raptures be they all among my own
Called to attention we are being Armies
Fall into winter longing for the home.
So match to us the uniforms of glory
These textiles draped atop our weary frames
Turn all those into flags as you be sorry
And leave us here to cook amongst the flames.
I am still a walking provocation
To go back there is all to re-begin
And individual each inhalation
Will pull apart the pretense of this sin.