"Right here," [points at heart] "you're dead."
"And right here," [points at head] "you're twisted."
Borderline personality disorder.
A curse.
I am alone, empty, freezing, starving, withering.
I am sorry.
Always sorry.
Sorry to so many.
I am doomed.
I am alone.
I am twisted.
I am desperate.

What does one gain
from completing the mundane tasks of daily living?

Laundry
Folding
Cleaning
Food prep

Vacuum
Dusting
Windows
Drain

Choose a color scheme for your home
A point of inspiration
"The History of Interior Design"
Choose your Lifestyle
Color your Path

What's the point?
Cable television
The Nuclear Family
Entertaining
The dodging of Lonelihood

Wouldn't you rather be a dolphin?
Dancing by day
And sexing by night

My furniture is coral
My upholstery is seaweed
Feng Shui by Poseidon's Design

Pulp Fiction.

"It's a beautiful thing, finding yourself through the touch of another."
Even if it's violent
And controlled
Hilarity at its most exhilarating

What is a total package?
"Try not to be so direct," offers my professor.
I'm pretty sure nothing is real anymore.
Only theoretical.

Make me hysterical.
Show me you're worth the inevitable suffering.
And yes, I do realize the suffering is inevitable either way.

Mail
Gmail
Inbox
Back
ExBoyfriends
Checking for mail...
Updated just now.
Checking for mail...
Updated just now.
Checking for mail...
Updated just now.

I love you,
"Da--" I resist
(lol jk)
This slip would matter to anyone but me.

Beautiful wonder,
Thank you for your blessing.
(drip, drip)

Take me, I'm yours
(define "yours"?)
Bring me home
Our home.
(our dollhouse made of flour)

Sparkle and f a d e
Glow and beam
BFF
(or so I thought)

S.W.A.K.

"So, how are you?"
Asks the creepy coworker
The one who has complimented my hair
Asked for a hug
And is always perceived as a creeper

"Fist bump," I'll insist
"Great." "Hurried." "Fine thanks, and you?" I dodge the intimacy like a ***** sock

"GET UP," he says to the kid I'm staffing, trying to be helpful
"You have to get up at some point," I gently tell the kid

I have a goal for these guys at work.
The ones who don't understand women.
Don't respect women.
Expect women to be there for them.

But there's a block, when a guy is just too creepy for comfort
I'm sure it's my own problem.

Thanks for listening, though I'm only writing this because I've assumed you're filtering all my e-mails into your trash. Who can blame you?

I am remembering the time we went to Lost Bar and then walked around my neighborhood for awhile. It was Spring, wasn't it? 2013. It was one of the few times we had fun together after actually going out. I remember that we returned home and as I was walking out onto the patio I said something about how I would probably never get married, because I can't handle the seriousness of forever monogamy and the weight that it carries. The limitations, the non-mystery. Such casual bluntness, unfiltered by my self-proposed life expectations or indirect efforts to keep you around, both of us hoping. Wishing.

I'm slowly realizing that we had a friendship. Somewhere in there, under the jealousy and resentment and the mismatch of our personalities within the confines of cohabitation and romantic expectations. Our breakup was inevitable. But there were parts of us that I'm glad I saw.

My habits are the same.
I hope you are well.

Yes, it's true.
I'm incapable of love-
Too broken for the challenge;
Too fragile for repair.

At times, euphoria~
Other times, thick apathy\

Too many lovers in one lifetime/
And I'm so jaded.

"I'm not mad. Feel free to email me with responsible inquiries. No more of the gf / exgf schtick."

What could be more humiliating?

My breath, pottery in flux
The universe, a crystal of any type
"Shavasana."
And I begin to weep, as the freshly loosened layers of stress begin to fall.
"What is consciousness?"
Entheogens will produce revelatory illusions,
While the Buddhists allay that suffering must be endured.
I'm losing my **** completely anymore.
I mask it by keeping a regular schedule and attending to the wishes of my family, my friends; my hair, my house, my pets.
But my not-boyfriend(s) know.
My yoga teachers know.
This bladder infection knows.

"God is watching me":
A harsh gust lifts my checkered picnic blanket and scatters my beautiful meal into the grass that is filled with systematic degradation, unrealized potential and scattered daydreams.

What
Will
We
Do
With
Ourselves?