#88

i have a nice little heart. i assume it's nice. it has continued pumping and pumping away.

my hands are a little too big. they make it hard to play music and so i listen to my heart. beating away, like a drum. a little bongo keeping time to a songwriter's lyrics. sometimes it is very loud, so i hold my breath till i can't hear it anymore. but then i breathe quickly, gasping, and it is a war drum. it is painted and chanting, and pushing its way out, i can see it under my thin skin. then i push on it. push down with my thick hands, my long fingers, ragged nails.

somewhere in the dark recesses of my mind is where i keep my Self. it is better this way.

#87

sitting on the bathroom floor again. better than in a room full of people i barely know.
wish i could say i'm solving problems, working through my issues. i'd like to say that i just needed to get a breath, instead of coming here because it feels better to cry somewhere dirty and lonely.
trying to talk myself into positive thinking; telling myself this will pass too, and something will turn out new and exciting.
everything i think, i've thought before.

#85

i only change things that don't matter.
fire engine red hair. what personality will society extrapolate from me today?
tomorrow i will bite my nails nervously. not a habit; a conscious choice. today was jazz. "i love jazz. i never listen to anything else."
tomorrow maybe screamo. or hardcore.
it'll be a Gap scarf, nail biting, hardcore, maybe a flower behind my ear. i'll quote the art of war in a boho dress.
i will exist in only temporal conditions. contradictions make people uneasy.

#84

the united states government has spent twenty million dollars on psychics over the past 35 years. what makes you say everything's going to be okay? you don't know. it's the most otiose system under the guise of justice i've ever seen.
twenty million dollars. but if i said i had a vision, if i suddenly talk about an out-of-body experience or a message from God, my lawyer would make the case for a mental health plea. i would be locked away.
by the way. i'm gunning for it.

#83

"mom, i was thinking of having a birthday party. is that okay?"
"whatever you want. when's your birthday?"
looking back, i realize that i should have been hurt. surprised at the least. but i was naiive and desperate for approval, so i told her "june 4th. i was hoping you and dad would be there."
"i have things to do. people have expectations you know." whipping her mascara shut and grabbing her plum-colored clutch, she stood and straightened her Vivienne Westwood ensemble.
my mother was, unknowingly, a card-carrying member of the Dunning-Kruger effect club.
maybe i should have just been pleased that she cared enough to ask when it was. nevermind that she didn't remember.

#82

it was counterintuitive.

keep planning. but every plan fell apart.

keep praying. every prayer is answered. what's the point, if the answer is no?

fall in love. your heart will be broken. better to have loved and lost than never loved at all? Tennyson must not have truly loved.

follow your dreams.
maybe dreams are only meant for sleep.

#81

it was her long hair, genetically skinny limbs, and incredible dearth of intellect that drew men to her. a precious lucky few found her off-putting personality... well, off-putting.
but, most of them fell into the stereotype. sucked in to the realm of the "poor-me" syndrome that women use to manipulate. and she was good. oh, she was good at it.
by the time he realized this, it was too late. years passed till he finally looked up; most of his friends had moved on. the few within site were wounded and battle scarred from being neglected too many times, ignored, their advice explained and excused away in her favor.
she remained the same, leaving his life a sad wreckage of what it could have been.