(no subject)
"URAjerk@hotmail.com"
don't read my poems, then.
get offline
and live your life.
expose guys like me for the jerks
you've judged us as.
don't look in the mirror-
let me always be the flawed one
in your eyes.
i embrace the long road
i have to take.
i don't live through my apologies.
i pick up
the poop i shell out
and swallow it,
so i know what i've done.
i sit in on the weekends,
hating myself.
i never intended to fuck and
get away with it.
i never intended to slip words
that i couldn't commit to.
i never intended to
say things before
understanding their meanings.
but i'm a dumb ass.
i do the most fucked up things.
i try to stop.
but i'm not fed ex.
i can't do shit overnight,
except write great american novels.
my ability to write
is a testament
to how emotionally inept i am.
socially retarded.
why today was the fifth time
this week i asked suheir,
am i always going to wake up alone?
the computer never talks back
to me.
i'm not really sure how much
i've grown over the years.
i'd spend a week with christa
to see if i've grown up,
but those days are memories-
skewed by victim desires
and teenage blame.
i will always see myself in a better light
than i was,
i will always make excuses for the past,
i will always justify
stupid actions,
i will always reflect years later
and know
i should've paid a price for
what i've done.
vonnegut asks me not to be reckless
with the hearts of others.
should i be involved with anyone
if i'm still at the beginning of that process?
should i just
sleep with the tv on
and let the heavy rotation on mtv
be my only connection
to the outside world?
will my heart improve
in the hands of a book?
spending days with music?
walking through parks,
brushing by people?
i ask questions i think
i know the answers to.
then saturday will come
and
self-doubt will be all up
in my shit.
but this is me.
not you.
if you want this life,
take it.
if you can make me better,
do it.
if you know
why i fall so often,
tell me.
if i shouldn't live anymore,
okay.
yeah. it's like that.
- beau sia
don't read my poems, then.
get offline
and live your life.
expose guys like me for the jerks
you've judged us as.
don't look in the mirror-
let me always be the flawed one
in your eyes.
i embrace the long road
i have to take.
i don't live through my apologies.
i pick up
the poop i shell out
and swallow it,
so i know what i've done.
i sit in on the weekends,
hating myself.
i never intended to fuck and
get away with it.
i never intended to slip words
that i couldn't commit to.
i never intended to
say things before
understanding their meanings.
but i'm a dumb ass.
i do the most fucked up things.
i try to stop.
but i'm not fed ex.
i can't do shit overnight,
except write great american novels.
my ability to write
is a testament
to how emotionally inept i am.
socially retarded.
why today was the fifth time
this week i asked suheir,
am i always going to wake up alone?
the computer never talks back
to me.
i'm not really sure how much
i've grown over the years.
i'd spend a week with christa
to see if i've grown up,
but those days are memories-
skewed by victim desires
and teenage blame.
i will always see myself in a better light
than i was,
i will always make excuses for the past,
i will always justify
stupid actions,
i will always reflect years later
and know
i should've paid a price for
what i've done.
vonnegut asks me not to be reckless
with the hearts of others.
should i be involved with anyone
if i'm still at the beginning of that process?
should i just
sleep with the tv on
and let the heavy rotation on mtv
be my only connection
to the outside world?
will my heart improve
in the hands of a book?
spending days with music?
walking through parks,
brushing by people?
i ask questions i think
i know the answers to.
then saturday will come
and
self-doubt will be all up
in my shit.
but this is me.
not you.
if you want this life,
take it.
if you can make me better,
do it.
if you know
why i fall so often,
tell me.
if i shouldn't live anymore,
okay.
yeah. it's like that.
- beau sia