Lily's Crying

I am a toasted wheat sourdough bread slice soaked in organic whipped butter.

It was me on that road

Watch me make great things. Yes, I do test, as much as I test for cancer or test the waters. You're the Cancer, and I yearn how you feel like a splash of ice-cold water. Wanting and unwanted - it's limbo, and we chose to live here. We cover distance, but still not together. How strange it is to be in this place, where the love was planted, seeded, and is still blooming, but its maker couldn't care for it, couldn't stay. Flashlights - nightmares - sudden explosions. I want to say what's in your eyes. They are all stupid basic principles anyway, the whole lot of it. No expectations, not ever. In that corner of the world, we still visit the briar roses. There, you still find me beautiful.

Multicultural Offense

Racist jokes -

My thoughts:

• depends on intention
• whether or not person of that race is present
• I believe in desensitizing bad connotations
• will not purposefully EVER offend anyone based on race
• will not make jokes of those around me do get offended
• liberal jokes are made to understand the weight and history of said racial caricatures and disintegrating said caricatures
• an understanding of other cultures and of ourselves
• take back what is the original malicious intent and then proving them wrong
• not a means of making oneself look like an ass, but rather a disproved individual representing a race
  

Over here, Mr. Kushner

Here we are standing before the Pleasure of President Obama, if only Capital Hill can unify. I stand at the Threshold of Revelation: and I now know that I couldn't tuck these feelings away. They discussed suicide in the army: suicide bombers and depression, suicide suicide suck it up suicide. I promise that we'll reach an end to all this, and then we can finally break apart. smashing horeshoe Promise me that I can at least have an ear. Don't close off this world; it's already failing. am I doin it right? i love lemons We respond by making a movie about Hillary Clinton. ignore the bulbous eye following your words, it's harmless just slightly irriating like a scratch you can't quite reach Soup I want to say wow but I don't know if it's relevant? What are we doing?

Puppy

Chloe, I miss you so, so much.

Petit Shadows

Expressly failing at living without living.

Guilt kills, okay?
Capitol Hill is pointing its finger at me.
My future college degrees are gesturing at me.
Shadows call for me.
Those who love me will hate me.

Prohibit, discipline, strive strive strive.

Dear Doc Block

Really bad night. Panicking and sick and don't know if I need help.
It stings and I hurt.

Inability to analyze without emotions and an end of an existence and I can't let go.

I can't let go, I keep going and it roots me into who I am, but not a person of change; instead, a person submitted to her own memory and obstructive emotion.
Maybe that's it: my inability to extract emotion from truth. Everything is perception and analysis, so how much can you strip away? How much is opinion?

For a long, long time, I denied a part of myself that I needed to mature out of. The need for constant companionship. Compiling lovers.




And tonight, I felt it touch me again, and I subconsciously pulled out the idea that I am denying my base emotions - what I desire mostly in the night.

I do this to be a better person. But what constitutes a better person... is within societal boundaries. Limits that I don't agree with.


I don't think I'm ever really over anyone in my life and that bit about me is killing me. I have another reason to hate myself.

I don't want to be here anymore. I hate anywhere that I am.

I think I loved, but was never really in love. Forced infatuation. I used them.

I don't think I'm conscious of said manipulation. But a lot of it has to do with my needs, and not the want of the person. For that, I feel guilty. I think I fear this, and I fear that this is what people think of me.

Pappas pushes buttons. He's one of those writers. Those who explore personalities through limits, pushing buttons.

I think I flattered, and if I have disdain for you, I display justified anger.
That makes me a pushover.

I'm a product of society, and I think I innately disagree with a lot of how I feel.

Children can commit suicide. That's depressing. Innocence versus ignorance.

Fear it, and the probability of your fear coming true is heightened.

Dawn of the Neo-sporin Zombies

I just saw a commercial for a pain reliever called Neo-sporin. The product was aimed at little kids getting treated (after falling down in the playground). If children are more willing to hurt themselves because they'll immediately get relieved, we'll have a whole different generation addicted to various pain medications. Then we'll be gods.

Borderline Sci-Fi, or Mature Fantasy, please?

New bliss and string cheese. Christmas cards tacked on the wall. I've given up waiting for my father's calls. We've compromised and understood: as time passes and you throw those fishing lines of yours to reel me in, but never pull me ashore - I will dutifully bite down on every piece of kisses and snarl of poeta. Even if it's unintended, pitiful, and an attack on my worthiness to your self-affirmation as a force of Something, Someone in my life and in extension, someone else's. Some one else's one day. Boxes of checks that I can't use, and a woman smiling at me from a painted picture used for vinyl record cover art; oh, how Newsom understands the need to be outside of this realm of smoke and cold steel and scratchy baby blue throws. Painting, scavenging, same thing, I saw you in the land of little man's treasure, and there laid mine, but I hadn't the courage to claim my tidings. This is the spirit that runs on the waters beside the banks of the shores where you drive, and she sprints as fast as you are willing to fly. Sometimes I think that spirits will lose its fire as it tires and lingers too long on the water, but I need to understand that dampening and dying are two separate entities; and as I sit here by the fire, slipping on the machine of natural heart's yearning, I will believe in eternity and all of its best aids - the remedy of sleep, the curing of time, and the wear-down of unwanted memory.

The Last of a Faint Spell

I'm angry.

I'm angry that I can't write. That my room doesn't understand the meaning of organization and storage. That whenever I take a step towards Control, I lose myself and when I am with me again, I'm something else entirely. I'm angry that I'm ambitious and lack everything else, that I'm lofty and I need and I'm too human, that I can't be more. I'm angry that I get angry when we reach a part of me that I don't want to walk to.

I'm angry that I can't appreciate the beauty of my own struggling.