(no subject)
I spent much of the most recent trip on the bus with my legs crossed in front of me, or perched on the seat in front of me because it was late and most of the seats were empty, I could lie my bag next to me without worrying I would get a glance of scance for not wanting to share my personal space with someone who reeks of cheap whiskey or just smells like they bathe even less then I do. I wanted to vomit the entire way home, just like the other day when I tried to venture to chipotle hungover as shit just to cure my aching skull but I ended up having to get off a couple stops early because I could not bare the embarrassment if I accidently spilled bile and leftover miller high life from my mouth. The feeling passed and I made it to my destination but it took me about an hour to spoon my burrito bowl into my slow moving body, a feat I would say considering it usually takes me mere minutes to do this normally.
And on the topic of embarrassment, sometimes I wish my jukebox of a sister in law wouldn't spill my secrets to her coworkers when I'm sitting right in front of her, you know, about things like how I think the real reason my car isn't working is because I have to put gas in it, or how I don't know how to pay my bills, the like. It takes a lot to get my face that red unless I've applied the make-up myself with a feverish hand, but I hung my head and tried to shrug it off as she smoked the last of my cigarettes, you know, but she's quit, right?
So I came home, I made it home before they did by cab so I got into the shower and stuck my finger down my throat because I will be damned if I go to sleep with this feeling in my gut. And all that came up was the taste of ash and bilemixedwithcoffee and I remembered I did not eat today, no no I did not. This could be due to the fact that I managed to wake up around noon and stumble around aimlessly, the numbers I read on a scale two days prior circling in my head.
No, I've never been this heavy in my life, you're right. It's a combination of stress-eating and being so happy that it doesn't matter and I have the urge to throw away the scale in my trunk but I cantcantcant bring myself to do it because all I see is the fat accumlating on my body and I'm freaking out now, I am freaking out.
I need to go to bed. I need to rest my head. I compose poetry only while inside those fiberglass walls and I try to scroll it out with fingertips on fogged glass but the only way I can make anything rhyme is if it's spoken word I can't write it down, it doesn't feel the same. I'm better at these paragraphs and reason. It's hard for me to make it more vague through short lines and repeating chorus'.
Goodnight.
And on the topic of embarrassment, sometimes I wish my jukebox of a sister in law wouldn't spill my secrets to her coworkers when I'm sitting right in front of her, you know, about things like how I think the real reason my car isn't working is because I have to put gas in it, or how I don't know how to pay my bills, the like. It takes a lot to get my face that red unless I've applied the make-up myself with a feverish hand, but I hung my head and tried to shrug it off as she smoked the last of my cigarettes, you know, but she's quit, right?
So I came home, I made it home before they did by cab so I got into the shower and stuck my finger down my throat because I will be damned if I go to sleep with this feeling in my gut. And all that came up was the taste of ash and bilemixedwithcoffee and I remembered I did not eat today, no no I did not. This could be due to the fact that I managed to wake up around noon and stumble around aimlessly, the numbers I read on a scale two days prior circling in my head.
No, I've never been this heavy in my life, you're right. It's a combination of stress-eating and being so happy that it doesn't matter and I have the urge to throw away the scale in my trunk but I cantcantcant bring myself to do it because all I see is the fat accumlating on my body and I'm freaking out now, I am freaking out.
I need to go to bed. I need to rest my head. I compose poetry only while inside those fiberglass walls and I try to scroll it out with fingertips on fogged glass but the only way I can make anything rhyme is if it's spoken word I can't write it down, it doesn't feel the same. I'm better at these paragraphs and reason. It's hard for me to make it more vague through short lines and repeating chorus'.
Goodnight.