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אם יש דבר אחד שאני רוצה להטמיע בכל מי שאפשר- ה' הידיעה במילה השניה בצירוף כבול.
בית הספר
כס המלכות
מיץ התפוזים
אם אני אצטרך לקרוא עוד פעם אחת כמה שאתם רוצים למצוא את האביר חלומות שלכם,
או כמה שהזין שלכם עומד כשהחור תחת פעור לפניכם
אני אאבד את השפיות שלא הייתה לי מלכתחילה.
I fear my choices, all the ones I tried so hard not to make, have all been wrong.
Or right.
I don't know.
Slightly red and Slightly sharp, all my might in a tea cup.
The admiration, false and void, a raise of a brow, untold.
Alone, despondent, nothing but doggrel.
Fuck off.
Don't you hate it when you're sick; stomach aches and weakness, you can't eat but you're hungry, you're hot because it's a million degrees outside but you're shivering uncontrollably;
And yet you're well enough to want to go out and do things and horny enough to want to call your ex, but that would be a bad idea, cause anal with a stomach bug can not end well no matter how much want it.
Fucking sucks.
Also a bummer to miss school and work and training, but that’s a secondary concern.
Fuck all this fucking shit!!!!!
I think I ate a moldy cookie, do you think I'm gonna die?
No?
Well, shit. I guess I'll have to try harder.
Preferably before the end-of-year concert.
I really want a massage from someone I love and are attracted to.
And it needs to really hurt and then put me to sleep.
Who's up for an end-of-the-world orgy?
I'm getting sucked into this mindset, this contredicting confusing mindset, where I want nothing.
I want alone, I want together, I want sleep, I want action.
I want nothing, so I am nothing.
I have a man in my house all the time now.
It's now expected that he'll be back, barely needs to be talked about. he has a key.
I can't escape. I can talk, ask, share my feelings and wants in order for them to be heard.
But that requires knowing your feelings and wants. That requires forming a coherent thought and communicate it. That's just too much to ask of me, I can't do it.
I want him here. Around. In my bed.
I also want space. Freedom.
Others in my bed. On my mind. With him.
I'm sad.
It doesn't have a lot to do with the situation, I'm permanently sad. And tired. And grumpy.
But I'm also getting short, irritable, resentful.
I thought it would take longer, but apparently I've been giving up too much already that it's starting to weigh on me.
Will I do something about it or just crumble?
My instinct is to reach out, placate and reassure.
But I was always open and upfront. He knew well in advance I'm not getting into anything monogamous.
And now he's upset.
That's his to work through, to figure out how he can deal, if he wants not to tell him.
I won't lie, and he will see other's marks, but if he won't ask I won't tell him. I can do that for him.
I know I need to give him the time to think, to untangle his emotions and possessive tendencies; but I'm upset that he's upset.
I need to stop myself from saying what he wants to hear. that would only cover the gaping hole with a sheet of paper, it would not survive the elements. It would fly in the wind and melt in the rain and rip the second we try to cross. And the fall will hurt us both.
So no, I won't say anything, I'll wait for him to come to his conclusions.
But fuck it's so hard. I can't stand being the reason he hurts.
I almost forgot I'm broken.
This illusion can't last long, I'm sure.
Maybe it can last long enough, maybe if I ration the sanity I won't run out so quickly.
Maybe I should be smarter.
Or the other way around.
I'm not sure. I'm being quite stupid today, but it could pay off. Might get me laid at the very least.
I'm such a slut, it's wonderful.
I find myself in the same situation, same fucked up state of mind.
When my judgment is askewd and I'll do anything to untangle the tight feeling in my chest.
The feeling that leaves me shaking and crying and self destructive.
The feeling I'm so familiar with. I love that feeling, live it, cherish it, wallow in it until I drown.
There are people that want to take me out of my pool of tears, that toss me a rope and urge to swim to shore.
But I'm comfortable with the salty water on my wounds and the pain in my lungs when I can't keep my head out of the water.
It gives me something to hold on to, some sensation to ground me.
I may know all the therapy secrets to make those feelings go away for a bit, but I don't want to try them, I'm afraid they're gonna work.
So if you want to get me out of the bog you gotta get in here and drag me out, I'm not gonna do it by myself.
Despite evidence to the contrary.
