goddamn i wish i were british.
[come to your senses you stupid motherfucker]
wakeup. wakeup.
not since november. what the hell does that tel you?
[it's all a matter of wanting and not wanting, believing and not believing and reinventing and hopes up and down and getting high and getting by and recalling and reliving and being sick and being sad and feeling better than before and expectation and elation and let downs and comming downs.
and comming downs.
i should have known. i should have. there isnt any real excuse. not really. not--
for you or me or them or we or any other sort of cliched combination i could come up with.
(i do not write worthwhile poetry. i am not witty. i am not in love with you. i am not.)
and maybe i am jealousy, personified. in fact, it's sure. as day. as alcoholic tendancies and bad judgement.
i am reduced down to liquor and bad judgement.
------(i used to define myself by the lines against my skin, against 12 year old wrists, against 13 year old thighs, and i cried and called myself a good person, a real person, but i never believed and i never not ever really believed that i deserved it. that i deserved it. and now i find myself sinking into timeframes of non-existence. i find myself defined by nights and words and feeling i dont remember and i dont love anyone. i dont love one of you. i am defined, self-defined, by brown bottles and broken glass that are lined up, and down, up and down, on my shelves and i measure my self-worth in their weight, and i wait. i waitiwait--but not long enough. and you dont give a shit anymore.
and i can't blame you.)
and i guess that i always expected to be able to lean back on you, down into you; i suppose i was so sure that i would feel you when i began to slip or lose balance or lose faith [lose face] because you had been there in the past, and time was passing, time was passing, and for some reason that seemed to work out logically, and i should have learned, i should have, that changes take place with no catalyst, that things dont make sense in hearts or machines, that nothing is static, that nothing, nothing remains. constant.
or equal.
equalized. that skin falls and sinks when you dont eat. that eyes burn when you dont sleep. that the bodies of seventeen year old girls striving to look twelve can not resist those levels.
3 bottles of cheap wine, cheap liquor, cheaper; cheapest.
----they say that alcohol and vomit are what make you feel pretty, you must be missing, you must be missing something inside. well then fuck you. you dont know me. you dont know me. you dont know
me. [what causes miscarriages?] what if i o.d.ed. what if i fell asleep and didnot couldnot
get up [it's called poisoning, motherfucker]
what then?
there are no black bruises this time. there are no scars i can not explain away.
there is no one to pick and prod at my body, at the legs of my pants, at my pockets.
[and you can not fuck me.]
and maybe i lost, maybe i lost lost lost lost lost
out on memories or time or aging or whatever.
my score is two. two times
whatever heart i may have lost. whatever heart i may have left. and how can you compare
how do you
how do you do
[i dont love you]
------i do do not.
anymore. like typerwriters and stickers and maybe for a day i changed my mind because things felt a little bit the same
but i shouldnt have forgotten
i shouldnt have
and so fuck absences and fuck me because i
am not sorry [anymore]
[minus the not. minus my attempting to be hardened. to be softer than you.]
and i wish i could be the place that you always expected to fall into
the hollowness beneath ribs
the spaces in collarbones that could collect water or sweat
and you could catch yourself on my hips and feel lovely
feel lover-ly
the way a messy bed made me feel loved once, feel better
and i didnt kiss you because you wouldnt let me and i guess that its better because my lips were red anyways
yes and i was too stuck onto myself and
i somehow thought that things could last in such an awklward balance and i should have seen it comming
but my eyes were shut in the middle of the day and i was thinking
of all the poetry [the jokes] i used to write about dusty curtains and drawn blinds and im sorry if i ever made it seem like i was more in love with that boy than you
[im afraid that i was] but he was never someone i could surely lean into.
and he used to tear me down because he could
and he could, and we havent spoken in months because he makes me feel like i am thirteen again, like i need to resort to my thighs again
however it doesnt seem to matter because whothefuck
is going to be seeing them.
and by no one what i really mean is you.]
wakeup. wakeup.
not since november. what the hell does that tel you?
[it's all a matter of wanting and not wanting, believing and not believing and reinventing and hopes up and down and getting high and getting by and recalling and reliving and being sick and being sad and feeling better than before and expectation and elation and let downs and comming downs.
and comming downs.
i should have known. i should have. there isnt any real excuse. not really. not--
for you or me or them or we or any other sort of cliched combination i could come up with.
(i do not write worthwhile poetry. i am not witty. i am not in love with you. i am not.)
and maybe i am jealousy, personified. in fact, it's sure. as day. as alcoholic tendancies and bad judgement.
i am reduced down to liquor and bad judgement.
------(i used to define myself by the lines against my skin, against 12 year old wrists, against 13 year old thighs, and i cried and called myself a good person, a real person, but i never believed and i never not ever really believed that i deserved it. that i deserved it. and now i find myself sinking into timeframes of non-existence. i find myself defined by nights and words and feeling i dont remember and i dont love anyone. i dont love one of you. i am defined, self-defined, by brown bottles and broken glass that are lined up, and down, up and down, on my shelves and i measure my self-worth in their weight, and i wait. i waitiwait--but not long enough. and you dont give a shit anymore.
and i can't blame you.)
and i guess that i always expected to be able to lean back on you, down into you; i suppose i was so sure that i would feel you when i began to slip or lose balance or lose faith [lose face] because you had been there in the past, and time was passing, time was passing, and for some reason that seemed to work out logically, and i should have learned, i should have, that changes take place with no catalyst, that things dont make sense in hearts or machines, that nothing is static, that nothing, nothing remains. constant.
or equal.
equalized. that skin falls and sinks when you dont eat. that eyes burn when you dont sleep. that the bodies of seventeen year old girls striving to look twelve can not resist those levels.
3 bottles of cheap wine, cheap liquor, cheaper; cheapest.
----they say that alcohol and vomit are what make you feel pretty, you must be missing, you must be missing something inside. well then fuck you. you dont know me. you dont know me. you dont know
me. [what causes miscarriages?] what if i o.d.ed. what if i fell asleep and didnot couldnot
get up [it's called poisoning, motherfucker]
what then?
there are no black bruises this time. there are no scars i can not explain away.
there is no one to pick and prod at my body, at the legs of my pants, at my pockets.
[and you can not fuck me.]
and maybe i lost, maybe i lost lost lost lost lost
out on memories or time or aging or whatever.
my score is two. two times
whatever heart i may have lost. whatever heart i may have left. and how can you compare
how do you
how do you do
[i dont love you]
------i do do not.
anymore. like typerwriters and stickers and maybe for a day i changed my mind because things felt a little bit the same
but i shouldnt have forgotten
i shouldnt have
and so fuck absences and fuck me because i
am not sorry [anymore]
[minus the not. minus my attempting to be hardened. to be softer than you.]
and i wish i could be the place that you always expected to fall into
the hollowness beneath ribs
the spaces in collarbones that could collect water or sweat
and you could catch yourself on my hips and feel lovely
feel lover-ly
the way a messy bed made me feel loved once, feel better
and i didnt kiss you because you wouldnt let me and i guess that its better because my lips were red anyways
yes and i was too stuck onto myself and
i somehow thought that things could last in such an awklward balance and i should have seen it comming
but my eyes were shut in the middle of the day and i was thinking
of all the poetry [the jokes] i used to write about dusty curtains and drawn blinds and im sorry if i ever made it seem like i was more in love with that boy than you
[im afraid that i was] but he was never someone i could surely lean into.
and he used to tear me down because he could
and he could, and we havent spoken in months because he makes me feel like i am thirteen again, like i need to resort to my thighs again
however it doesnt seem to matter because whothefuck
is going to be seeing them.
and by no one what i really mean is you.]