Release

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"But why acting?"
"I'm not sure,

it's just what has always felt closest to right."

"But it doesn't anymore?"

"No...I don't know.
         I feel like I owe it to myself I guess."


"To your former self or to who you are now?"

"Former."

"Even if you don't want that anymore?"
"Yeah

...I don't know."

"Let me ask you something, when you were a child and people asked you what you wanted to be when you grow up, did you say an actor?"
"No."
"What did you say?"

"I said happy."

Run

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In a new room,

In a new city

That smells like rain 

and my favourite 

colour. Friends ask me

if I miss them

How I want to say

yes, but

now I'm away

I feel I've found my self.

Again.

And I would not trade

her, for them.

I'm sorry friends

but alone beats lonely

any day.

Meat.

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The other night:
The way your eyes
looked at mine
made me feel
sick, sad, alone.
Please please please
do not look
at me
that way.
The way the other boys have.
I chose
you because
your eyes
are different.

bittersweet

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I can feel change coming on again, stronger than before. It's heating up my veins. 

It's the spark in my eyes, the catch in my voice.

Hermetic

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Life is so exhausting.
I keep trying to remember the way I used to be, before I was sad and when I was sad and when I was getting better and I can't. What does that mean? I don't know how I see myself anymore. I can't comprehend my emotions and thoughts and actions. I don't know who I am and who people think I am and who I want to be.
When I look in the mirror I can't see my face.

Group Hallucination

I am so sick
of these ancient, iron cages
that separate
us. They separate
the artists from athletes
the scholars from blue-collars
the known from the unknowns;
the Romeos from Juliets.
They separate people from people.

I do not think
such persistent,
such acceptable ideas,
should remain unchallenged.

I cannot wait
for the day
they rust away.

(Sometimes, I think we make them up inside our head.)

if

source

Letterhead #10



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Dear writer, reader, blogger,
I have a question.

When are you going to realise
That you aren't going to be saved?
By your parents
By Jesus
By faith and hope and love
By the system
By your blossoming future
By a girl
By a boy.

That you will wilt
And shrivel and wither
That you will die
Drown in your loneliness
In your despair.
That you can't rely on anyone else
Anything else.

Or, alternately
When are you going to realise that you can save yourself?

nights



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Moments flicker
twist
jump
into and out of one another
you are at a party
by the bonfire
at the sink
talking to bella
fallon
peter
on the phone
you are
refusing
giving in
failing to hold yesterday's convictions
by yourself
quiet
still laughing
looking in the mirror at someone else's life
buttery fingers try to hold on to awareness
it slips away again
in a car
walking
talking
trying to act
how you normally act
talking too quietly in an attempt
to ease suspicion
you are sneaking back in to your house
trying not to trip
you are in bed
trying to fall asleep
you are sneaking back in again
at the party again
looking at your blood-shot eyes again
wondering what you're doing, again.
You get the feeling
that you are skipping through moments that are grouped together
-moments that are happening always-
as you try and fail
to stay in the present.

Excerpt #6

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Guilt eats at her.
So she eats at the chocolate
that he gave her,
it's her favorite.
She has never felt more guilty.

Stolen

Kudos to Lily for posting this, I just stole it.

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“I wanted to kill the me underneath.
That fact haunted my days and nights. When you realize you hate yourself so much, when you realize that

you cannot stand who you are,

and this deep spite has been the motivation behind your behavior for many years,

your brain can’t quite deal with it.

It will try very hard to avoid that realization;

it will try, in a last-ditch effort to keep your remaining parts alive, to remake the rest of you. ”

—Marya Hornbacher

Letterhead #9

Dear Peta,
I'm sorry I'm a shitty friend.
That I don't feel like seeing you a lot of the time
and that I can behave so bipolar.
I'm sorry that I take a lot,
I'm sorry I want you to be someone you aren't.
I'm sorry that sometimes I love you but not always.
I'm sorry I don't normally like hugs.
I'm sorry that your mum died,
I tried to make it better, but I'm sorry I couldn't.
I'm sorry I don't have the courage to say this to your face.
With love,

Dear Peta,
You remember that time I said I didn't think we would stay friends for much longer?
(But you've never listened to me) I was being honest.
I still believe it.
Sorry I forced you to believe it, too.
Stay good.

Deja Vu

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I have this feeling that keeps coming back to me
like not only have i been here before, but i've said these things before, I was in this exact situation before
more than that, i have lived this exact life before
and like groundhog day i keep screwing it up
so i am forced to relive it
and i think
oh the cruelty
because more than ever i believe the mistake will be some kind of tragedy.
will be something bad.
but instead of peace i will be forced to relive it
to start again
to endure everything i've taken so far
again

it feels like moments are gathering towards one
and although i can do anything to change it
i don't know how to
or want to
because the idea of making it up as i go along,
of not unconsciously knowing what's in store
is fucking scary

100

So I will show you...

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the back-up

it's not a plan, it never was
but sometimes it feels as if it's this inevitability i will fight until the day i don't.

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hold on

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when i am 30
i will live alone, in a house in the country
and when i stand outside and look around my house, i will not see a trace of civilization except mine
and at night the stars will sing to me.

i will live there for 3 months, or a year or unto death
and i will cook and read and write
and retreat
from the world
into myself

i will not have a family
because even then i wont be that selfish
instead i will have me
and my thoughts
and they will occupy me and my time

instead

i will have a room with nothing in it
but metal and wood and sand
and when i need to
i will go into the room and throw paint at the walls and at myself
i will throw the wood at the walls and the metal at the wood
i will run my fingers through the sand then my hair
and i will finally physicalize feelings

sometimes when im lonely i will speak to myself
or my fire or sink
because they will listen and so will i
i will sit on my roof and scream and scream and scream
and dance
and noone will hear me and noone will care
and i won't feel trapped
or lonely or in danger or targeted
ill feel like myself
ill feel free

and until then, that -that promise- will be enough

smoke and mirrors

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there's smoke in my mouth
smoke in my mouth
smoke in my mouth
it won't come out

this changes things
you think
i think
as your eyes dart to my ash-traced lips

"you you you are not who we thought"
you think
i think
there's no we anymore

blushing pilgrims no longer
lest shame makes us so
i am bound to the foe
now you are my foe

i am your foe
though i didn't mean to be
this changes things
stains more than skin deep

i'm being choked
by blackened smoke
i'm tainted with cancer
you're tainted with hope.

i'm glad it's ok

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okay,

i trust you.

let's go with your idea

I can't help feeling it will be awkward next time we see each other.

last words

this not knowing is the worst.
not knowing how much i can say and how much it will mean.
how much is known.
but maybe it's better this way.
as long as it's kept secret.

so here's a promise

i won't tell.

but don't you either.

because these are the real kind of secrets

the one's that not even best friends know,

the kind that keep you awake at night.

and i guarantee noone will already know.

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i should stop listening Carole Bayer Sager before i say something stupid.