longing
is a privileged thing in itself if I had to work hard just for the basics, just to get by, well, I would have no more time to myself, or mental energy really, to exert, to mis-spend, in this misplaced directing of my energies towards wanting. But it's such a good drug, like it's such a good hurt, like it's such a good taste. Going back and revisiting my copy of "Secretary" and wondering, if I could make myself be a cutter, would that be a god outlet? Would that be good enough? A good place to store the energy? Or a good many places. Keep it forced into little slices pressed into slits of my skin, pressed through layers. I think it maybe could work & be gratifying.
I have this funny thing where when I want to reinforce a point I will just simply repeat whatever it was I just said. I look at you when you give me that blank look and wonder if maybe I'm annoying you. I think maybe I am just not funny enough. Not witty enough. Not quick on my feet like those little kids on the bus.
Selfish angry and hungry. Hungry and angry. And self-focused. And wondering, hey, if you ever called me to come out to something to support you, would I be willing? Because I want to say I would be, but I think I've been a failure in the past. So then there's the wanting of myself to be that person. And it's a totally different story. Change for you? Well you never even asked me. What if I didn't need to? What if I was already there? And we just didn't know it because we can't be together?
Again, this seems like a complete failing on my part.
Little pocket claender. One day circled, outlined, above and beyond. Belongs to me and you. Above more and more and more than anything else.
"Don't mix the colors, I like them that way/Don't mix the colors, just let them stay"
It was maybe perfect a long time ago. Again, another failure on my part.
I have this funny thing where when I want to reinforce a point I will just simply repeat whatever it was I just said. I look at you when you give me that blank look and wonder if maybe I'm annoying you. I think maybe I am just not funny enough. Not witty enough. Not quick on my feet like those little kids on the bus.
Selfish angry and hungry. Hungry and angry. And self-focused. And wondering, hey, if you ever called me to come out to something to support you, would I be willing? Because I want to say I would be, but I think I've been a failure in the past. So then there's the wanting of myself to be that person. And it's a totally different story. Change for you? Well you never even asked me. What if I didn't need to? What if I was already there? And we just didn't know it because we can't be together?
Again, this seems like a complete failing on my part.
Little pocket claender. One day circled, outlined, above and beyond. Belongs to me and you. Above more and more and more than anything else.
"Don't mix the colors, I like them that way/Don't mix the colors, just let them stay"
It was maybe perfect a long time ago. Again, another failure on my part.