(no subject)
ive been decieved
yet not in the martyring sense past experienced, i was cleaning out my closet, just now, when burgundy caught my eye, this one item that i shouldve bought for my dad, which i owned too, which reminded me of the person that would wear matching pink panther tacky baseball caps littered with god knows what buttons of certainly highly vibrant colors on the school field trip he volunteered to attend, when my old iranian neighbor, par, told him "whatever they ask of you, do it because they'll be old one day you turn around and you wont be able to account for the time", so then there were field trips, the only parent present in the elementary school cafeteria, when brenden, the little shit, threw a pretzel at my dads bald spot, which wasnt even that bald at the time, and instantaneously i was broken, no one muttered a word that i thought would hurt his feelings, i loved him, why should his head to the talking point asshole, so then it turned to taco bell lunches, when i escaped rigorous education to enter into the real world for a half an hour, when we would enjoy mexican pizzas side by side, and i didnt think twice about eating cow, or questionable dairy, or chemically injected mexican picked tomatoes, that lunch was perfect, no nutrition could corrupt that, then there was the evenings when i would sit and play the dreaded piano that all of my chinese peer students excelled at, and i hated, but he'd sit there nodding off listening to my b flats and f shouldve been a sharps, and we'd sit in the driveway, myself usually crying, about life, and learning, and how uncomfortable it can be at times, and the yearning to relate well to my mom, for i am the type that needs to be mommied,
i wish someone couldve whispered 'this will be the last time' that i could climb in between the two people who brought me into this world when i just needed a little comfort without it being awkward, because no one tells you these things, they never say 'this might be your list time trick or treating' or 'this is your last recital' or 'this is your last family birthday party' or 'this is the last time you'll hug me as my child' or 'this is the last time your house will really feel like another limb' or 'this is the last time you'll ride in the car that carried you through many very very good years. i cant help but thinking that if someone had i wouldnt feel like everything that was so natural to me hadnt been yanked from under my feet without my realization or consent.
be
yet not in the martyring sense past experienced, i was cleaning out my closet, just now, when burgundy caught my eye, this one item that i shouldve bought for my dad, which i owned too, which reminded me of the person that would wear matching pink panther tacky baseball caps littered with god knows what buttons of certainly highly vibrant colors on the school field trip he volunteered to attend, when my old iranian neighbor, par, told him "whatever they ask of you, do it because they'll be old one day you turn around and you wont be able to account for the time", so then there were field trips, the only parent present in the elementary school cafeteria, when brenden, the little shit, threw a pretzel at my dads bald spot, which wasnt even that bald at the time, and instantaneously i was broken, no one muttered a word that i thought would hurt his feelings, i loved him, why should his head to the talking point asshole, so then it turned to taco bell lunches, when i escaped rigorous education to enter into the real world for a half an hour, when we would enjoy mexican pizzas side by side, and i didnt think twice about eating cow, or questionable dairy, or chemically injected mexican picked tomatoes, that lunch was perfect, no nutrition could corrupt that, then there was the evenings when i would sit and play the dreaded piano that all of my chinese peer students excelled at, and i hated, but he'd sit there nodding off listening to my b flats and f shouldve been a sharps, and we'd sit in the driveway, myself usually crying, about life, and learning, and how uncomfortable it can be at times, and the yearning to relate well to my mom, for i am the type that needs to be mommied,
i wish someone couldve whispered 'this will be the last time' that i could climb in between the two people who brought me into this world when i just needed a little comfort without it being awkward, because no one tells you these things, they never say 'this might be your list time trick or treating' or 'this is your last recital' or 'this is your last family birthday party' or 'this is the last time you'll hug me as my child' or 'this is the last time your house will really feel like another limb' or 'this is the last time you'll ride in the car that carried you through many very very good years. i cant help but thinking that if someone had i wouldnt feel like everything that was so natural to me hadnt been yanked from under my feet without my realization or consent.
be