10:25 a.m.

eh, well, let's move on
I thought I was special because he put his fingers inside of me and came on my tattoo. he made me cum and pushed my face against anything he could. I thought I was different because he let me get on top of him and grind against his ass. he moaned. I did too.
It's ok. I am beginning to see where it all goes. I'm another fan to him, just one he happened to fuck. or almost fuck. I should have known better. never mess around with celebrities, no matter how small-time they are.
they'll never be able to focus on just one. I'm a face in the crowd. a name that is nothing. would it have made any difference if I had been single? not to him, I think. definitely to me.
I feel so stupid. naive. embarrassed. I wonder if he does too. it wasn't a mistake, not really, I just wish I could turn my feelings off at will. I wish I didn't like him or respect his work. I wish I couldn't relate.
if he hadn't been so fucking dirty, I think I could have dealt. it just fit with me so perfectly, I thought there was more of a connection than there was.
or seems to be now. I can't even begin to understand his perspective. I like to think about fucking his ass and gagging him, even knowing before it wouldn't happen. he's just a fantasy now. fantasy body, fantasy fuck. relegated to the part of my brain where I keep the porno material. it's a shame. he had such potential.

Saturday, May 3, 2008

09:33 p.m.

not here
good day today. good heart. good weather. good grades.
I had to write yesterday at therapy. had to write that ... what is it called? free thought? free form? free? but I wrote about not being free. I wrote about suicide. I wrote about panic. fully formed sentences turned into jumbles. the past becomes a story, the story becomes words. meaningless.
it was eight and a half years ago. I folded it like a shirt, packed it neatly, then put it away. I know it's still there, but I just put it away. I don't want to remember anymore. I just want to get on. I just want to forget, and keep forgetting.
she says, "you've repressed this." I read aloud and she says, "did you forget or did you black out?" I don't black out, I just forget. I explain and she says, "tell me about this," and I don't want to, I don't want to, I want it all to go away. I want it all to have never happened.
I have written so much about nov 19 that I forget it ever happened to me. I feel like I've outgrown that skin. taking a new name was part of that, part of leaving that behind. I have been in therapy for over three years and this is the first time we've addressed this with any seriousness. I can't talk about it. it hurts.
this is spring. I don't want to hurt. I want good days. I want to enjoy these good days. the bad days are for cold, for winter, for hibernation, for box cutters, for poetry, for sobbing, for increased medication, for suicide writing. the good days are not for these memories. dealing now brings up memories I'm still not prepared to face. maybe never will be.
you know, I didn't talk to my dad for four years because of the magnitude of one transgression. this is nothing compared to that. give me five more years.

Thursday, May 1, 2008

08:16 a.m.

want, not need
I want to make a playlist of all the songs that get me going. all the songs that make me want to fuck, or be fucked, or rub against something. living room, automatic, tyler, heel, motivational, pressed against the sky, (or anything by the toadies), gave up, and more and more and more. songs for the spring, songs for my libido. encouragement I do not need. encouragement I want regardless.
dance. dance with me. I need a partner. I need someone to share these songs with; I need someone who gets it. dirty, uninhibited, willing. one night, two nights, weekend, long weekend, week, month, and on. do I have that? can I?
I might. how many partners does it take to fulfill me?
how many times can I dance before I get it right? or get close enough to recreate?

Tuesday, April 29, 2008

07:57 a.m.

gonna get there
writing again. I'm rusty. oil the machine, let the grime flake off. moving my joints and slowly but surely they react.
too soon, too soon, but I can dream. there's a wait involved. there's a process. bled it out on the bus, now the physical memories remain.
remain and used for my own fulfillment.
I masturbated to the memory of a face pressed into carpet. vibrated the feeling of fingers inside. whispered to someone stuffing dirty boxers into a mouth, moaned, and came, and it still wasn't enough.
the emotions have fled but my body craves more and more and more. something invisible broke inside of me, something that was holding me back. now I know what I want and what I had before was close, but not as close as that. not as close as pressed against a wall with no escape, wanting no escape, or thrown onto a floor or a bed or anywhere. anywhere. no holding back.
no holding back.

Tuesday, April 29, 2008

10:39 p.m.

it's like four years ago when my best friend left me ..
it's been a while since I've been inspired. since I quit my job and started learning from books again, life has seemed like a vacation. I'm putting all my worries off for five years away. I'm relaxing in some kind of domesticity. some kind of peaceful bliss.
except for the anxiety and miscellaneous depression, life would be right where I want it. except for the longing that never leaves me and the nagging sense of self-deception, I'd be right on track.
I hate being unreliable. I hate feeling like I've let people down. it's something that I never got used to, nine years after it started. it's something that I'm trying to assuage by getting a degree. by being someone new. by still being me, but better. who I was supposed to be?
I ctrl-s ctrl-s like it was breathing. I want to save everything. I want to take what I learn and use it practically. I don't want to overwrite, I don't want to reboot. so many separate files. so many new names. so many, so many, soon I'll have to explain it all again.
on wednesday I have to write about why I'm so scared of being in college. I have to write about why I tried to commit suicide nine years ago. I have to write about why I can't go to baltimore this weekend. I have to write about this fracture that has resurfaced. I have to write about alienation and depression and feeling crazy (not now, then, but yeah, sometimes now). I have to write about cutting and getting kicked out. I have to write about failure. I don't want to fail again. I am so terrified of failing.
what if my next break never ends?
what if it's like last time, with one semester, then one year, then two years, then an alternate plan that finally leads to nine long years and eventually a job that kicks my ass into gear because I realize I don't want to manage a warehouse all my life and only gain recognition for novelty's sake and not because I feel like I'm doing anything good or even making a difference?
what if it just becomes more food service and more worthlessness and taking pride in things I despise and settling, always settling for something that I am not truly comfortable with and never will be?
what if I never figure myself out?
what if no one ever figures me out?
what if I never really connect?
what if I push everyone away again?
what if I fuck up so badly I can't recover?
what if I never try at all?
there are people, there are friends, why am I so scared to open up?

oh yeah.
rejection.

Monday, April 28, 2008

07:03 p.m.

more things I liked but are now wrong
you watched me
that's what got me
your full and undivided attention.
my eyes were closed
but I felt you
and when I met you
there was that too.
the recognition without knowing
now I'm going
now you're gone.
traveling somewhere
still too close to me
the temptation
is to want you
but in reality
I just want to forget.

here, let me interpret. let me say. it was good, it was great, I'm glad it happened, now it's over. the fastest recovery ever written on a bus.
also, I hate it when poetry rhymes unless it is exceedingly well done.
this wasn't. here. have another.

Sunday, April 27, 2008

06:53 p.m.

the fickleness of feelings
getting out of reality for a weekend was a good idea. did you know that I'm in love? he was waiting for me at the bus depot. he brought my bike. I forgot his smile. it had only been two days.
it's amazing how swiftly we forget, how quickly I forget.
did you know that all I needed was a nap? and some food? and to be back where people say, "oh, we missed you," and my roommate hugged me and I heard stories of people asking about me all weekend.
I didn't know how good reality could be. I didn't know how loved I was, until I came home to questions and longing. I didn't know.
I was moping. on the bus. in the rain. tired, hungry, feeling alone. feeling out of sorts, in the ocean instead of the bathtub, like my namesake, like my name.
I wrote. I wrote a lot. pages. more than I've written for me in months. do you want it? things change so quickly. sometimes I forget.

I'm looking for a
blank sheet of paper
to write my story on
I'm looking for a
new canvas
to paint out our afternoon
I'm looking for the
perfect song
that will bring me back down
I'm looking for a
scapegoat
to drive out of town
I'm looking for the
way home
so I can sleep again
and I'm
looking for the
perfect phrase
to make the pain subsist
to bring sense to this
to make you write to me
to make me forget.

Sunday, April 27, 2008

11:12 a.m.

don't visit, don't talk
I felt
angry
betrayed, I want your
minnesota lovers
out of my providence life.
I want your
kiss and tellers
away from my street and
I want your
very remnants
cleansed from my being.
get out.
get out, for real this time.
take all of them with you.
they don't belong here.
take them all away.

Wednesday, April 16, 2008

09:14 p.m.

it's ok.
there's relief and there's Relief. there's closure and there's Closure. there's time spent apart and time spent together and all the times in between. there's here, where I am, and there, where you are, and never the twain shall meet.
there is no more us, or we, or together.
I felt so young with you; like I was 19 again and figuring myself out. I felt the giddiness and despair, and always the knowledge that it would end.
there's a new us, now. there's a new we. for both of us.
I guess it all seems more right this time around.
I guess we both lucked out.

Saturday, March 8, 2008