whatever bullshit life is. Fuck being a teenager.  Fuck choice. Fuck life. Fuck in general.

who the fuck is that?  Who was I? Who am I now?  Where did that person go?  Wanna forgive and forget, wanna hold onto everything and nothing, wanna laugh and cry, wanna hear you say, “don’t go, just stay.” wanna wretch and sleep, wanna fly and sink, wanna spin and stand still, wanna break and stay together. Wanna die. Wanna live. Wanna watch the sun set and the moon rise. Wanna go to the past, embrace the present. Wanna say hello, wanna say goodbye~

I’d like to think I’m a nice person, I suppose we all do, but, it seems to be something I’m relatively good at.  Yet, the world seems so set on rubbing it in my face nice guys won’t make it.  It feels like all this work and effort I put into everything, my work, my friends, my family, my goddamned life isn’t amounting to anything.  And it’s not like I do the things I do for “rewards” or “favors.”  I care about the things in my life so intensely because it is an inherent feeling, belief - whatever the hell you want to call it - embedded in the core of who I am so it has become natural as breathing.  I don’t have to think twice about my actions, I simply act.  I’ve begun to allow myself to wonder and wander into the realm of my mind where contemplation dominates, tossing around the heavy humanity questions, where moral ambiguity meets social acceptability in a messy crash of confusion, reality, idealism, in which no one survivor seems ever to be able to stand up and walk away, rather the splintered pieces jumble into one smoking pile, hissing and rattling out their beliefs, and I question the value of being “nice.”  Is there something to being the biggest, baddest thing around town?  At what point is the extended helping hand no longer being grasped, but stepped on?  

Maybe it’s simply a confidence issue.  Being confident doesn’t always guarantee being an asshole.  In fact, it allows for having a plan, following through, getting shit done for oneself.  And for the most part, I can feel confident about parts of me, at least, that’s what I tell myself.  I feel confident and content being “nice” and “helpful,” but more and more I find myself pressed into a corner of definite, cornerstone foundations society praises.  It feels more and more oftener the only reason for discussing “humanity” and the righteousness or injustices and bullshit of everyone and everything is found with weed in the park with friends going through the same thing.  It’s as though we all acknowledge something has gone amiss, we’ve lost some sort of crucial ingredient to our makeup, but this haze hangs, camouflaged perfectly with our surroundings, so we blunder through it, oblivious.  When all the nice guys are gone, maybe someone will finally be able to identify what has been fading out, the final flickering flame at the end of the wick that has at last sputtered out in a wisp of subtle scented smoke; that faint, yet distinct feeling of safety we’re only aware exists once it is gone and vulnerability takes its place.  

It’s like, I’m sitting in front of the blank screen just waiting for a thunderbolt of lightning to come down and strike with an idea, release the flood gates of meaningful, ponderous words, and all I can think is damn that pizza was delicious. Lately it feels like there’s so much to say, and so much to think about, yet no time to talk and no way to describe it all.  It’s kind of like being a buoy in the midst of a midnight storm, everything is dark and chaotic except the rescue boat’s lights, but they don’t waste time saving buoys - buoys save people, buoys save themselves.  They stay afloat in any condition, just bobbing up, down, up, down.  I suppose that’s how I feel.  Just bobbing, up, down, up, down.  It’s not necessarily a bad feeling, or a good feeling, just a state of being.  Granted, I don’t feel this way all the time, it’s just when I let myself stop and think, which I suppose yeah, is most of the time, but I don’t mind, I’ve gotten used to the motion, it’s natural.  When a wave strikes, I move correspondingly, when it is dark, I am calm, I know the water.  It’s been a while since I’ve written anything, I guess there’s lots of reasons for that, but sometimes it’s necessary to let go, sometimes all the bobbing has got to stop, and in the silence, the quiet lapping of water, dull cries of gulls, that thunderbolt hits you, and you’ve got to say something, just anything, seize the silence, the rare stillness, and take a breath. 

your vagina explodes and your ovaries melt.