Don't have anything to read while you're taking a shit?
HERE'S SOMETHING!
(and I apologize to "dayan" in advance, I've just been going through old stuff of mine, and thought I'd share)
A Poem I Wrote in the Seventh Grade:
Distrust.
One who does not trust my word.
I do not think they have heard.
My real message of what I did not do.
To someone as good a friend as you.
Please believe me, please.
Do I have to beg?
Do I have to get on my knees?
Do I have to cry,
to make you see that
I, your friend, did not lie?
I wonder that here in the silence--
the treatment you use instead of violence...
Please show what I have done
To make such distrust in someone.
(Ahh, dear, sweet, awkward pubescence. To make the pretty picture a little clearer: I had braces, my bangs were growing out, I was gangly, and liked to pretend that I listened to A LOT of Jimmy Hendrix)
Things are kinda being put in perspective, here. Tonight, going through odds and ends. "Odds, and Ends." What a fucking loaded figure of speech! And what a PERFECT way to describe EXACTLY what I'm searching through tonight.
Odds. Ends. And I'm of course, thinking about everything that keeps me grounded, or completely delusional. All scraps of paper falling out of photo albums and stuffed animals with only one eye and notes from boys in second grade and report cards and girl scout badges and plastic "King's Island" cups.
I have the same damn paraphernalia NOW, it's just a whole lot more expensive and more pretentious and clouded by doubt, rather than absolute TRUST. Like scraps of paper falling out of photo albums and computers without power buttons and sex and college credit and pseudo-lesbianism and plastic champagne glasses stolen from a hotel where Biafra pontificated for 4 hours.
No trust.
Was it all delusion then, and I just believed, believed, believed, and things have changed?
Or is it all one giant illusion, whether one trusts it, or not?
Going to sleep.
Going to think about someone A LOT.
Is it wrong to be really self-conscious about what you're like on the phone?
Enough not to call the person you're dying to talk to?
I feel like I'm in the seventh grade.
(and I apologize to "dayan" in advance, I've just been going through old stuff of mine, and thought I'd share)
A Poem I Wrote in the Seventh Grade:
Distrust.
One who does not trust my word.
I do not think they have heard.
My real message of what I did not do.
To someone as good a friend as you.
Please believe me, please.
Do I have to beg?
Do I have to get on my knees?
Do I have to cry,
to make you see that
I, your friend, did not lie?
I wonder that here in the silence--
the treatment you use instead of violence...
Please show what I have done
To make such distrust in someone.
(Ahh, dear, sweet, awkward pubescence. To make the pretty picture a little clearer: I had braces, my bangs were growing out, I was gangly, and liked to pretend that I listened to A LOT of Jimmy Hendrix)
Things are kinda being put in perspective, here. Tonight, going through odds and ends. "Odds, and Ends." What a fucking loaded figure of speech! And what a PERFECT way to describe EXACTLY what I'm searching through tonight.
Odds. Ends. And I'm of course, thinking about everything that keeps me grounded, or completely delusional. All scraps of paper falling out of photo albums and stuffed animals with only one eye and notes from boys in second grade and report cards and girl scout badges and plastic "King's Island" cups.
I have the same damn paraphernalia NOW, it's just a whole lot more expensive and more pretentious and clouded by doubt, rather than absolute TRUST. Like scraps of paper falling out of photo albums and computers without power buttons and sex and college credit and pseudo-lesbianism and plastic champagne glasses stolen from a hotel where Biafra pontificated for 4 hours.
No trust.
Was it all delusion then, and I just believed, believed, believed, and things have changed?
Or is it all one giant illusion, whether one trusts it, or not?
Going to sleep.
Going to think about someone A LOT.
Is it wrong to be really self-conscious about what you're like on the phone?
Enough not to call the person you're dying to talk to?
I feel like I'm in the seventh grade.