(no subject)
here is honesty.
i want to escape from my lonliness. from my mother and from my seemingly inescapable status as "the other woman" in the lives of most of my romantic interests. i am illegal to have, to touch, and that is the only reason there is to desire me.
my apathy worries me. so does my inappropriate sexuality. thirty year old men i don't know, male freinds already in relationships, straight girls... only those really uninterested in me seem to be the ones i black out and get dizzy over when i smell them.
they all know who they are. i'm this novelty in their life. i'm around, but not always wanted. just untouchable. the girls asked me if i felt trashy, and the answer is yes. i wish i wasn't surprised at the quickness, the sureness of that.
fuck. if i could i would just drive somewhere and not stop. just drive for however long i live. the rest of my life. stop and make enough money for gas and cigarettes. then drive on. play harmonica at night.
watch the stars.
i don't really feel lonely, then. looking at them i know i'm as cold and distant as them, in truth. so at least there is some kinship there, in the burning hydrogen and freezing vacuum.
like everything else that i know ill die without, they're millions of miles away.
i want to escape from my lonliness. from my mother and from my seemingly inescapable status as "the other woman" in the lives of most of my romantic interests. i am illegal to have, to touch, and that is the only reason there is to desire me.
my apathy worries me. so does my inappropriate sexuality. thirty year old men i don't know, male freinds already in relationships, straight girls... only those really uninterested in me seem to be the ones i black out and get dizzy over when i smell them.
they all know who they are. i'm this novelty in their life. i'm around, but not always wanted. just untouchable. the girls asked me if i felt trashy, and the answer is yes. i wish i wasn't surprised at the quickness, the sureness of that.
fuck. if i could i would just drive somewhere and not stop. just drive for however long i live. the rest of my life. stop and make enough money for gas and cigarettes. then drive on. play harmonica at night.
watch the stars.
i don't really feel lonely, then. looking at them i know i'm as cold and distant as them, in truth. so at least there is some kinship there, in the burning hydrogen and freezing vacuum.
like everything else that i know ill die without, they're millions of miles away.