I live here now.

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"Spring Time Panic Attacks"

Sitting in the grass
With the sky gone black for the night
And the wind rushing to bed before morning.
A half raised panic attack is the perfect place 
To think if 1000 ways to disappear
And a 1000 ways we fit together best.
and at least one thing that'll keep us apart. 
My eyes will leak lighter fluid for the first time in years
Gasoline will set my heart on fire one of these days
I am getting tired of the feeling of butane in my veins.
My bloodstream is like battery acid
And for the first time since I started dreaming, I now understand why you could never love me. 
"She is just like you and she is perfect for me."
I think what you meant to say is that she is just like me but she is pretty.
She is just like me, but you love her.
and she is nothing like me because she doesn't love you back.

Surprisingly, I find myself sick at the thought
of your life spent with someone else.
who is just like me, but not at all the same.
Oddly enough I find myself angry at you
for letting her string you along the same 
way I allow myself to trail your every step.
We are the same. We are both clueless when 
it comes to things like this.
I prayed for God to send me a sign
to tell me if I was supposed to wait for you to wise up.
I think I finally got the message. To be honest,
it was not the direction I expected him to guide me in. 

She is just like me but pretty.
She is just like me but she doesn't have demons in her
brain stem that step into her dreams.
She is just like me but she has her shit together.
She is just like me, if I was better. 
So in that way, she is nothing like me.

My whole life can be summed up in terms of W

I wasted my energy wanting the things I can't have.

I worry about which way I am supposed to be going.

I won't let myself win a single battle that I fight against

myself in my own head.

I walk the line between self awareness and nonsense. 

I wake up to mornings that I should have spent in bed

and I sleep through the days that might have meant something.

I wade through currents of fleeting emotions

bobbing under the weight of it all, but still

trying to keep myself afloat. 

I wager the words I write against the world.

Maybe I will eventually say something

worth reading. Or hearing. Or even worth speaking.

I wait for my internal voice to stop wailing for 

just a moment so I can finally get some rest. 

I always make sure to wash my face clean of

the debris left by the internal wreck the night before

I finally make my way outside for the external

adventure I call my day to day. 

I wonder what is going on with me.

I have walled up and walled in myself

to the point where I am not even sure 

what I want anymore. 

All I know is that I am stuck in a web

of self inflicted doubts.

Wounded by the words echoing in my skull

screeching out that I will never know who I am.

This Pool is Why I am Sinking

Throwing me into this pool is why I first started sinking.
Feet stuck to the ground don't do well flailing through open waters.
What kind of pool is this anyway?
Fraught with sharks and salted so strongly
that even my emotional cuts feel the sting.
Eventually you get used to the feeling of drowning.
The weight of water against your eyelids
the warmth of liquid in your lungs becomes a
familiar burden.

So I rose to the peak of this pool to take
my first full breath in years.
The surface tension is no match for the
energy of my inner turmoil.
And goddamn it, I rose triumphantly.

But a hand pushed me back down
demanding that I become a mermaid.
This artificial baptism would in no way separate
my humanity from my inner monsters.
This force expected me to perform a miracle
I could never execute because I can't help
my two legs, my lungs, and my lack of gills
to keep me swimming in this
stupid fucking pool.

Heart Break Hotel and Human Interaction

So this poem might actually get published so I am going to post it here so when the time comes, it can be removed if the publishers decide that it shouldn't be posted somewhere else.

She sits idly by and cries tears for a boy that will never really know her.
She loves him fully and she knows that he loves her back.
She just claims that he doesn't know how to show it.

They live in this sickening dynamic where they don't know what they want
but they are 100% sure that their wants are different. And as their middle
man, it is difficult to judge where they should fall on the spectrum
of friends and maybe potential lovers.

He sends me messages asking what she is thinking and
she comes home trying to figure out if he has called.
I remember when I played wing-woman instead of
heart break hotel doorman. It is their baggage to carry
not mine. Staying at the heart break hotel was ineffective so
I threw them into the street at Fuck You and Get Over It's intersection.

I want nothing more than to take these two and leave them
street side. I want to tell them I clearly don't give a fuck.
He can call her back if he wants.
She can drive him nuts for all I care.
I didn't know being their friend meant getting
full pass access to their affairs.

They fight about nothing despite their wants being
virtually same. They are just looking for a reason
to stop playing. I am in the middle of their stupid games
and I am stuck sitting between them as they plea for me
to fix everything wrong with their relationship
neglecting to remember that I am destined to live
in a trailer with just upwards of two dozen cats
because I clearly suck at human interaction.

Have you ever felt

...like screaming the lyrics to your favorite song in the middle of the subway just so someone else can hear how you feel? Even the happy songs; just singing them out so the world will get their heads out of their own asses and realize that there are other people around them feeling real things too.

...that being okay might be scarier than being broken? People don't expect much from you when you are broken. Being a real person entails real responsibility and an obligation to consistently function.

...like all of the things that you do well will never mesh in a way that is marketable? Like, calculus and creative writing (assuming I can be considered good at either of those) will never work together. The problem lies in the fact that they aren't really things that can be used alone either.

...that people are entirely overrated and that you may be better off alone? I didn't feel this shitty when I was actually friendless. People are too complicated.

meh.

I had this idea earlier today.

and holy cow, it was a good one.
I was thinking about how I was going to go online and blog for the first time in forever and write about this superb idea so that the world would know how great I am at thinking.
Then life does that thing where it gets in the way of everything and I forgot what was so important that I had to run to my computer and write. So whatever.

I guess I haven't been writing too much lately which is incredibly sad for me. I have been messing around with some story lines and other little things, but nothing has struck me as being worth pursuing, so here I am. I think my problem is that my life has been a blur of sandwich making and box filling over these last few months. There is no time for creative processes or existential thought. It sucks, but at the same time it is nice to not work myself into a panic over the demons that are whispering in my ear. I am sitting on the fence right now.

I also haven't had a nightmare in a while. Sometimes I will wake up feeling like I might have had one, but I never remember them. The entire time I wished they would go away, I was scared that I would stop dreaming all together (and not even just about Mary, just in general) and so far that has been the case. I don't exactly remember when my last dream was, but I do recall it being a nightmare. There hasn't really been anything else since then. It is strangely bittersweet. So no nightmares means no marathon sessions of trying to keep myself awake so the screams don't get me or of waking up in such a panic that the words that I could never say magically manifest themselves into poem form in the tips of my still sleeping fingers.

I have to go back to packing up 21 years worth of debris before Sunday.

Sunshine, rainbows, and kisses.