Jan 2016
there’s this invisible gremlin with his hands around my neck and yes, i say HIS because yes, he’s a man, what else would a gremlin be.
he’s got his hands around my neck and he has another set of hands around my arms. and my eyes are locked with his and i'm entranced.
i wish i could say he was as beautiful as vishnu with his four arms and enchanting mystique. but i wouldn’t be caught dead praying to this guy.
he pulls my hair and he grabs at my ankles and don’t get me wrong, there’s a time and a place for that. but this is always at the most inopportune moment. because while i’m running away, he calls out to me,
“hey! remember how terrible you are? remember how you’re actually incapable of doing anything? remember how literally no one likes you?”
and i freeze in my tracks and i look around hysterically, begging that no one heard him. and i open my mouth to say something but he’s throwing pencils at my head like nate in my civics class and what did i ever do to you, nate?
my brother likes to remind me that he cried on the homecoming court and i wish i could say that i felt vindicated but ever since i felt the eraser hit my temple, i realized i should probably keep my mouth shut because these linoleum halls are run by basketball shorts and beauty queens, not band geeks
nate threw pencils at my head. he didn’t put his hands around my neck. he wouldn’t be caught dead touching someone like me.
this invisible gremlin is all over me. and i’m kind of indifferent because i love any kind of attention. he bought me so many drinks in college and i thought, for a while, it was a good system. we’d drink and we’d dance and we’d follow those adult rules of not talking about work or family while having fun.
and then the next day, he’d hit me in the face as sharp as the wind on wood street. “remember, you’re in love with someone who doesn't love you.” “remember, you’re too awkward to get past the job interview.”
he keeps me up all hours of the night wanting more from me and my muscles are tense but with no touch of intimacy.
i’ve spent my whole life being the tallest girl in the room but he has his shoe right over my head. people watch as he brings me to my knees and they STILL ask me why i’m always apologizing.
it took me years and years to end up realizing that i was apologizing for him. like an exhausted midlifer apologizing for her ******* husband. but my favorite stories are the ones where she gets a fresh haircut and a new dress and she realizes she’s worth more than Bud Weiser hollering at her from the recliner and then she writes a new ending for herself.
so thanks for the pencil.
he’s got his hands around my neck and he has another set of hands around my arms. and my eyes are locked with his and i'm entranced.
i wish i could say he was as beautiful as vishnu with his four arms and enchanting mystique. but i wouldn’t be caught dead praying to this guy.
he pulls my hair and he grabs at my ankles and don’t get me wrong, there’s a time and a place for that. but this is always at the most inopportune moment. because while i’m running away, he calls out to me,
“hey! remember how terrible you are? remember how you’re actually incapable of doing anything? remember how literally no one likes you?”
and i freeze in my tracks and i look around hysterically, begging that no one heard him. and i open my mouth to say something but he’s throwing pencils at my head like nate in my civics class and what did i ever do to you, nate?
my brother likes to remind me that he cried on the homecoming court and i wish i could say that i felt vindicated but ever since i felt the eraser hit my temple, i realized i should probably keep my mouth shut because these linoleum halls are run by basketball shorts and beauty queens, not band geeks
nate threw pencils at my head. he didn’t put his hands around my neck. he wouldn’t be caught dead touching someone like me.
this invisible gremlin is all over me. and i’m kind of indifferent because i love any kind of attention. he bought me so many drinks in college and i thought, for a while, it was a good system. we’d drink and we’d dance and we’d follow those adult rules of not talking about work or family while having fun.
and then the next day, he’d hit me in the face as sharp as the wind on wood street. “remember, you’re in love with someone who doesn't love you.” “remember, you’re too awkward to get past the job interview.”
he keeps me up all hours of the night wanting more from me and my muscles are tense but with no touch of intimacy.
i’ve spent my whole life being the tallest girl in the room but he has his shoe right over my head. people watch as he brings me to my knees and they STILL ask me why i’m always apologizing.
it took me years and years to end up realizing that i was apologizing for him. like an exhausted midlifer apologizing for her ******* husband. but my favorite stories are the ones where she gets a fresh haircut and a new dress and she realizes she’s worth more than Bud Weiser hollering at her from the recliner and then she writes a new ending for herself.
so thanks for the pencil.
