three-eight-nine
How did I end up being everybody's shrink when I need one more than most of them do? It doesn't seem right. It doesn't seem fair. And I'm just complaining again, aren't I? Because in a past life or before I was born or sometime in the future, I did something terrible, and I'm being raked over the coals for it, again and again.
Why else would I feel like this so often?
-----
She asked me the other day if she could borrow my shoes because she loves them so much, and I thought the question would make me explode. All of a sudden I was thinking about how stupidly honored I was for her to be asking me for clothes, and how I wanted to say no because I love those shoes, and of her in her white dress which I love so well with her beautiful legs and her cream-pale skin and dark hair, of her color-changing eyes decked in silver make up, of my beautiful and sexy black shoes on her heel-born feet. They're beautiful and sexy too.
I told her she could borrow them, and I'm probably going to let her keep them, because after I see her wear them I won't ever want to touch them again.
Why does it seem to feel like I'm playing bridesmaid at HER wedding to the love of MY life, when she's only going to prom with her boyfriend?
-----
I will say this again and again: I will not live a long life. I will never get married. I will have no husband or wife or child or puppy or a little white and green cottage by the sea, or a stone mansion by the river that I so love.
I don't know how I know that, I simply do.
Don't cry at my funeral. I was always expecting death.
-----
I hold up most of the Beloved by myself, but even together they cannot hold up me.
I'm too huge for that, in so many sickening ways.
-----
You want to talk about unfairness? I sacrifice my life for you, and you all want more. I'm letting you take away my ribs one by one, and I'm letting you suck the air straight from my lungs, and I'm letting you poke a hole in my heart and transfer the blood to someone so much more in need.
And I let you do it with only the slightest whimpers breaking through my cracked and peeling lips.
-----
No, it isn't okay that you're pouring more and more blackness into the empty shell of my skin. There was enough in there before you all took away my skeleton and my organs and muscles to make room for yours, too.
Now I'm turning into a walking ball of dark.
-----
I'm waiting for the moment my teeth break through this wire and wont have to deal with anything anymore.
-----
My heart is gone and shriveled up and I gave it as a sacrifice to all of you, but you come to me begging for more on hands that are attached to scarred wrists, and your pitiful scraped-up knees. So the wound isn't healing and I have nothing more to offer, until you truly decide to hand me the ritual knife you are hiding behind your collective backs.
I'll do it for you gladly.
-----
Commit me somewhere, and maybe they can turn me around and remove my spine so they can peer through the empty space left behind and find out what's wrong. Take me to the hospital, take me to a shrink, and stop telling me I can do this on my own.
Oh wait, that's bullshit, isn't it? Because we can't afford the medical bills and you truly believe I SHOULD be doing this by myself.
Lovely.
-----
I hate you, and I wish I could go as far away from you as I can and never, ever look back.
I don't even know who "you" stand for this time.
-----
It's just stricken me that I have no one to pretend to write to. No one accidentally absconded with my heart this time. I have no envelope to stuff them in and send them.
Unless Death has a P.O. Box.
Why else would I feel like this so often?
-----
She asked me the other day if she could borrow my shoes because she loves them so much, and I thought the question would make me explode. All of a sudden I was thinking about how stupidly honored I was for her to be asking me for clothes, and how I wanted to say no because I love those shoes, and of her in her white dress which I love so well with her beautiful legs and her cream-pale skin and dark hair, of her color-changing eyes decked in silver make up, of my beautiful and sexy black shoes on her heel-born feet. They're beautiful and sexy too.
I told her she could borrow them, and I'm probably going to let her keep them, because after I see her wear them I won't ever want to touch them again.
Why does it seem to feel like I'm playing bridesmaid at HER wedding to the love of MY life, when she's only going to prom with her boyfriend?
-----
I will say this again and again: I will not live a long life. I will never get married. I will have no husband or wife or child or puppy or a little white and green cottage by the sea, or a stone mansion by the river that I so love.
I don't know how I know that, I simply do.
Don't cry at my funeral. I was always expecting death.
-----
I hold up most of the Beloved by myself, but even together they cannot hold up me.
I'm too huge for that, in so many sickening ways.
-----
You want to talk about unfairness? I sacrifice my life for you, and you all want more. I'm letting you take away my ribs one by one, and I'm letting you suck the air straight from my lungs, and I'm letting you poke a hole in my heart and transfer the blood to someone so much more in need.
And I let you do it with only the slightest whimpers breaking through my cracked and peeling lips.
-----
No, it isn't okay that you're pouring more and more blackness into the empty shell of my skin. There was enough in there before you all took away my skeleton and my organs and muscles to make room for yours, too.
Now I'm turning into a walking ball of dark.
-----
I'm waiting for the moment my teeth break through this wire and wont have to deal with anything anymore.
-----
My heart is gone and shriveled up and I gave it as a sacrifice to all of you, but you come to me begging for more on hands that are attached to scarred wrists, and your pitiful scraped-up knees. So the wound isn't healing and I have nothing more to offer, until you truly decide to hand me the ritual knife you are hiding behind your collective backs.
I'll do it for you gladly.
-----
Commit me somewhere, and maybe they can turn me around and remove my spine so they can peer through the empty space left behind and find out what's wrong. Take me to the hospital, take me to a shrink, and stop telling me I can do this on my own.
Oh wait, that's bullshit, isn't it? Because we can't afford the medical bills and you truly believe I SHOULD be doing this by myself.
Lovely.
-----
I hate you, and I wish I could go as far away from you as I can and never, ever look back.
I don't even know who "you" stand for this time.
-----
It's just stricken me that I have no one to pretend to write to. No one accidentally absconded with my heart this time. I have no envelope to stuff them in and send them.
Unless Death has a P.O. Box.