Thursday, July 29, 2010

i play with matches and paper dolls.

Some days life is like a book. You don't really want to turn the page and find out what happens next. Some days it's easier to relive past chapters and

Wednesday, July 14, 2010

lost little girl.

So many blogs i edit for content; putting a positive spin on my negativity so that i'm not just another hipster with a fake smile and sad insides with fake transparency...

that shit gets old.

"Lookatme lookatme lookatme with my flawlessly applied doll-like makeup, 80's inspired floral print skirt, sheer white shirt and fedora. Lookatme lookatme lookatme with my seeming indifference, achieved with a perfect cocktail of pilfered clonazepam, cocaine hangover and self deprecation.
i hate staring at shitty tattoos on the soft, paper thin flesh of inner biceps displaying single words or phrases in sad, failed attempts at originality.
Why am i writing this right now? why do i continue to berate that which i am probably secretly jealous of?


I wonder if the next girl's future will hold the same; a downward spiral of self loathing so severe it's almost beautiful in it's intensity. Show all your friends how you have this naive, unaware little girl wrapped around your little finger. hold her up high by your strings and make her dance. Pretend that you care about her sad failed attempts at sating you with candy and back rubs and her damndest at showing you her love, in the only way she knows how.

By being the submissive, obeying, pleasing "Yes" girl who would die for you, anything to prove that she is


I used to be that "Yes" girl who would sacrifice her own well-being, her own dignity at the cost of showing you that she would do anything for you. Now that i have no qualms about saying "no" or refusing to play little mind games, i feel that i should own it and feel stronger...but i don't. I still somtetimes feel like i'm falling perfectly into a trap, a game of boosting your self worth at the expense of others.
I would spend every last minute on this weird planet rubbing your back and tired soles if i knew that it would have made your life better.

I'll sit on the back burner, burning with a caustic resent for all those moments i lost while getting lost.

on another note, i discovered an old letter written to me in my journal by an amazing old (and recently re-kindled) friend.

Monday, July 12, 2010

i'm crazy. i own it.

The list of things i used to be is longer than the list of things i am;
ex-lover, ex-friend...
ex-communicated athiest, ex-patriot.

She's a latter day saint, but she's a Saturday sinner
Suicide-Sunday dessert
On weekends drinking your dinner.
The worry keeps her slender, the coffee keeps her awake.
Her man makes her happy but can't help to still the shake.

More than slack rope, more than sunstroke...rum soaked and sad jokes at rap shows.
Open doors that have been slammed shut, locked with the same key that i used to lock up my heart. Congratulations to the dry eyes, consolations to the nice guys.
Just another raffle prize, a cheap little thing wrapped up in a pretty bow.
Take me home.

Wake up and forget the past, every tear and failed attempt at saying the right things at the right time.
Move on, with a smile poorly drawn.

I'll always be silver medal, your unlucky raffle ticket that might win something; someday.
Auction off my heart, bids starting at the low low price of one broken ego.