if I can put what I'm feeling into words
I can get rid of it, I think, I'm going to
try that instead of what I've been doing
I want to live a hundred different lives
starting over every time I feel complacent
give reincarnation a jump start and
decide to feel new instead of numb
I'm not happy so I start searching with
such intensity it scares me off instead
is there clarity in another place? I think
there's an inherent problem with searching
looking through piles of clothes and stacks
of paper and boxes of ******* you should
have thrown away, I would have, I live in
a twelve by twelve room with ten belongings
my best friends neighbor is a hoarder, I
wonder if he can't think through a thought
without having to stop to catch his breath too

you’re the only one who has ever made it seem less daunting

she tells me not to leave but
I’m miserable.
there’s no cold water in this
entire city and my throat has
been sore for centuries. I’m not
me if I’m not thirsty, calculating
the difference between our
languages and the chance well
ever find a way to communicate,
my mouth is like the Sahara and
there’s really nothing that I can do.
I’m not me if I’m not yearning,
looking for subliminal messages
inside of afternoon delights that
only mean we both drank beer
on our one hour lunch break,
I’m not sure I’ll ever be able
to breathe in this place the
same way again. at least not
without a planned escape route
in every building, every street,
every ******* bar, and it’s been
a terrible way to live thus far

I can want to call you but not dial it now, which is progress, but it helps when I remember how much I ******* hate you!
I told somebody recently that I always look back on times of growth with a fondness, with a spotlight, even though during them I can only feel the sting.
I want everybody to know to not take anything I say seriously because I don't trust anything I create and that even includes sentences, but whenever I grow up I will demand to be treated as such. I'm not used to how it feels to have an impulse that I don't act on-
I do the same thing each weekend, some of my friends find that to be depressing but I like to think its means we're in a sitcom. It's our own certain patterns and routines and I'm easily able to romanticize it, I think it's sweet, others think it's stationary.
I ran into my ex tonight, the one who I believe has a very low IQ.
I could cry if I wanted to, but I'm not sad. I want to mourn each version of myself that I've left somewhere else (including the one who was with that ex) and I'm absolutely terrified of the ones that I still have to deal with, I see glimpses of them each time I get a new tattoo.
I nearly cried because a song came on that made me think I wanted you back, this happens every so often and I have yet to figure out yet if it's real. Sometimes I think the fact that I get back there (or here, more or less, because I did start to cry) has to mean something, that maybe I did actually love you in a way I haven't ever before or maybe might not ever again, but other times I blame it on my mental health or menstrual cycle or the fact that I'm 22 or maybe even sleep deprivation or my own self destruction patterns or possibly personal insecurities or A literal human need to connect in a way that I'm also simultaneously avoiding.
I like her. I do like her. I just like ME more (and you, but thats only because you match my level of cynical and I find that pleasing because everybody is either morbid or positive these days), and that's new, because I still barely like myself! I usually forget to look at myself in the mirror for days in a row. I've seen my reflection so many times in the past week. I might be getting taller.
I use too many commas and not enough periods or maybe even too many of both but I want to write without worrying who is reading! I want to write in the way that I believe I could, never ending sentences that mean something and hit people in the chest the way I want to be ******* slapped, ******* beat down to my core, you know? I saw my ex who threw me down stairs tonight, it's that one, the really really stupid one, not sure if you remember. She's gained weight since the last time I saw her and I asked if she was sober within 60 seconds of speaking to her, I've gained inches and gotten like 25 tattoos,
I can't wait to be happy.
I only hate you because you don't love me too.

I saw the way you looked at me and remembered that I MUST be that small, as small as you see me!

my teeth and your saliva both feel tight in my mouth,
as I see you periodically checking your rear view
mirror to look if my face has changed or if
I'm still playing the quiet game.
I am.
sometimes I talk when really
all I need is a touch
she took her clothes off slowly,
the front of the record said "are you alone?"
in scratch handwriting,
not the time. it's just really not the time.
and I'm trying to learn how to sing but I
can't even begin to talk, it's too hard to
think when you are close to me and
I mean that in a really bad way,
I think of her terrible boston accent
and his ******* ******* kids
and the scars on her legs she never explained
and that crazy look in their eyes
I hangout with guys that carry guns, now
and they try to feel me up when their girlfriends aren't looking
I’d love to sleep for an entire night
I’d love for all my time to just be mine