musings

I want to be an artist. I want
to be a writer. I want to be important.
I want to make a difference. I want so much.
I am so little.

I want to be a
sculpture. I want all
of my bones to be visible.
I want them to poke at my skin like weapons.
I want people to be afraid of me.
I want people to be afraid of breaking me.
I want to be sharp, angular, dangerous, daring.

I want a favorite
coffee mug, though I
despise coffee. I want
loose socks. I want
a favorite chair. I
want organized chaos.
I want a bonsai tree.
I want a fat, cuddly,
stupid cat.

I want to be rooted like a tree.
I want to grow. I want to see
life change. I want to be a home
for others. I want to feel air
uplifting me, yet know I am there to stay.

I want to have a favorite pair of sunglasses.
I want to make silly faces at
you. I want to fall asleep in the
passenger's seat, mid-conversation, and have you
not care because you love me so much.
Let's take a road trip, darling.

I want to be sly as a raccoon,
planting notes in your coat pockets. I
want you to read them while in the
grocery store, at work, or while you're
fishing for the keys to our home. I
want to induce you into little,
quiet, I-am-loved stages. I want you
to feel my love lingering in your bones.

You're the key to home after an extremely
long day. You're the blanket that's perfectly
warm. You're the song that I needed
to hear, even if I didn't know it.

I want a white picket fence and
one of those adorable little houses. I'll
have a porch overtaken with plants. In the
morning, I'll go sit out there with my lazy, old
dog and read a chunk of my book.
I will adore it.

I want to dance along a
bridge. I want to smile and wave
at the people. I want to lean over
the railing. I want to know that
jumping isn't even an option. I
want to be a brighter part of this world.

chub chub
chub chub
chub chub

I want to be okay with
my weight. I want to be happy
with how I look. I want to feel
beautiful, even with all my flaws.
It's a huge wish, I know.

I've got hope.

I want there to
come a day when crying
is not a normal thing. When
I have to think really hard
to remember the last time I
did. That would be spectacular.

I want a walkway all guided by
those adorable lights. They would
be beautiful, and make me smile
each time I saw them.

I want rain
boots. I want to
splash around in
them like a little
kid. I want to
feel young.

I want to end all
the hate in this
world. I want to
end sadness, too. I want
to fix everything. How do
I do that, though?

I can't even fix
myself.

I'm not coming home, dear.
My life has been drowned, soaked
in sadness and fear. I'm not
coming home, dear. It's been
one too many a year.
I'm going to fly, fly
off the bridge, and into
Heaven Above. This time, I swear,
I'll be as beautiful as a dove.

Let's go to the zoo,
darling. Let's go to the
zoo and smile. Let's take
pictures of the gorillas and stare
in awe at the bears and
tigers and koalas. Let's be one
of those cute couples, let's
be so fucking happy that it hurts.

Sometimes I wonder if I
could burn right through my
skin with a Bic lighter.
I wonder if I could
burn myself to ashes.
I wonder if anyone would try to
figure out the mystery of my death.

Maybe I'm a butterfly. Maybe,
just maybe, I'm beautiful and
I cannot see it. I hope,
anyways. I hope with
all I've got, anymore.

I'm gonna be sad
Pull the scissors from my hand.
I'm gonna be sad.
Please, don't be mad

Look at me
I'm pretty as could be
in my dreams

l l
l ; l ; l
l ; l
l ; ; l
l ; l ; l
l ; l
l ; ; l
l ; l ; l
l ; l
l ; l
l ; ; l
l ; l ; l
l ; l

I'm ugly. I'm stupid. My writing
is awful. I'm annoying. I'm awful.
I'm fat. I'm an asshole. I hate me.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

You've no life. You wake up
and play video games and feed
your guinea pigs and return to
bed just two hours after waking
up. You lay there, feeling shitty.
You wish to cry, but you
cannot. You are too weak. So,
you think of something else:
you think of finding your scissors.
You think of carving stripes into
your wrists and thighs. You
think of destroying yourself
in an effort to destroy the
monsters that live inside your mind.

Only, you can't because
it betrays the few people who love
you. Even if you've done it before.

IHATEYOUihateyouIHATEYOU
IHATEYOUihateyouIHATEYOU
IHATEYpleaOUihateyouIHATEYOU
IHATEYOseUihateyouIHATEYOU
IHATEYOUstopihateyouIHATEYOU
I HATE YOU

I'm going places.
I'm going downtown to buy a bottle of pills
I'm getting a shotgun and running for the hills
I'm going to the river and tying the anchor to my toes
I'm waking up and pretending this was a dream

I'm tired. Let's count sheep.
I'm tired. Leave me to bake in summer's
heat. I'm tired, buried in winter's snow.
I'm tired. I'm all the things you
won't let go.

Tell me I'm magic. Tell
me you want to see a trick.
Smile, please, even if I fail.
I love you, and that is all I need.
Promise.

Give me a story about all the stars,
darling. I'm tired of down here. I want
to be up there. So, tell me stories.
Tell me of their lives and how it's
pleasant, dreamy, for they're all stars
and they can see how they shine. Then there's
us, and damn, are we blind.

Let's eat shaved ice
and laugh when our
tongues change colors.
Hell, let's make a rainbow.
Let's speed down the highway
and see life through the dark tones of our
shades. And please, just laugh when you find
me writing useless postcards back home.

I'm crying over spilled milk,
fat-free and slightly delusional, yes.
I know it
had to be this way,
but it still sucks
and I'm still sad. I mean,
I'm your kid. Shouldn't that
matter?

Guess not.

I remember my
dad telling me how to
draw birds. I sketched a lot
as a kid, so when he told
me this, I was really interested.
I learned, and so I filled up
this whole page with those
curvy-bumped birds.

And I wasn't mad, when I grew
up and realized that they were just
bent V's.