I don’t feel very good
She says and she looks at me with those big doleful eyes and
I say
Oh yeah? What are your symptoms?
And she says I feel far away from you even when you’re next to me
And I say me too
And I’m listening to the staticky scratch of the needle at the end of the record thinking about how far from me I’ve been
And how could I have possibly been close to her when I was so distant
From the present tense
I’m tense in the present tense
And I’m sleepy because in the conditional tense I can do what I want
I want to sleep
And dream about anywhere but the present tense and my single bed with its yellow-tan sheets
And that record’s still skipping and has yet to be flipped and I’m
flipping
but externally I’m ice water
crackling on my wobbly coffee table singing me to sleep so I can dream about something else again
something like meaningless ***
because meaningless *** feels good
in the present tense
and I’m present tense
I’m present tense and future tense and conditionally tense and
I just can’t bring myself to flip that record
Because I lost the tracklist
And I don’t know the lyrics
And what if it’s worse than the first side
So maybe I’ll just listen to it skip
Until the skipping

Puts me



To sleep





Again

For the record, I don’t give a ****.
I haven’t given one since the day I dropped “Hollywood”, really.
For the better, I don’t push my luck.
I haven’t had a lucky streak since the day that never came.
For the record, I’ve never had a movie night on Valentine’s Day that turned into a French kiss marathon under the projector
I’ve never sat abreast on bleachers with my head on someone’s shoulder, feeling normal, listening out for a taco truck, ******* hating the heat but loving the breeze.
And loving the track he thought was fire enough to share with me.
If I were to share one, I’d play “Thinking Of You” by Sister Sledge, be like “I love the lyrics, they make me think of you”,
but I never got to say that.
The only thing that ****** me raw was life and it wasn’t even that good.
It wasn’t addicting.
It was nowhere near good.
For the record, I’ve never been to prom and I’m blessed to not have gone.
I wouldn’t dare dance my own way and my way is taboo, an elephant in the room.
Not even the scent of my perfume or a wine topper going off could give me confidence to be honest with myself,
to stop being an average bystander just to become part of the background or a meek voice that’s sinking into traffic south of El Sereno.
I don’t want what’s expected of me, please stop asking.
Find me out at El Camino, but please stop writing my life for me.
I don’t wanna have kids, I don’t want a wedding.
I don’t want a “wife plus kids” happy ever after package.
I don’t know what I want, but I don’t want this.
For the record, I’ve never had a Netflix session gone ****** and my favorite memory is my first day in LA.
I’ve never kissed anyone in the school’s restroom and then ran out cause our song was on, was part of a party’s tracklist.
That’s why I’m setting the record straight, I’m done showing a facade that’s fake.
The only thing that ****** me was life and it wasn’t satisfying
I liked smoking more
but I’ve only smoked five cigarettes.

I think I’m alive to have butterflies
run around like a sociopath with my butterfly net and like every one I catch
be like “You’re so ******* beautiful, but I have a hundred just like you”
this is me being honest.
I think I exist to have eyes for guys
change them like clothes when I find better looking ones that don’t suit me anyway
Oh, lord have mercy, I’m simping my way into my grave.
I think I’m alive to be all smiles
I’m a ****** of adrenaline that gets me hyperventilating and dilates my eyes
Keeps me up until 3, forces to contemplate what I’m losing and what I can save
Oh, lord have mercy, I’m ******* my way into my grave.
He’d make me sing like na na na na na.
*** on bleachers, hearing Bananarama.
Sit next to me like “Ayo, Lana Banana, where’s the smile on your face, today’s mine or your place?”
These cheerleaders have sun bright futures, all I’ve is decay, but you, Juan, you can take me to your place.
I don’t want ***, I want a hug. A friendly face amidst these *******, a seat next to you in the back of the bus, this was supposed to be my heartstopper, what went wrong?
I got to feel like Charlie for a day, now I’m the gay cousin, it’s official, my heart’s wants are superficial, phone’s still not buzzing.
I used to be interrogated at family functions about my love life, I had none to little.
I used to ride in the back of the school bus with all the coolest people.
I have a bi pride flag baptized with a water cannon by a drag queen in a fabulous orange wig.
I sang Lady Gaga on a pride parade, I saw a cute gay couple and it made me think why not me?
But then I thought that one day it will be worth sitting alone and keeping love confessions at the tip of my tongue, believe me when I say I deserved better.
This year I’ll get the luxury of living a life.
I pray for it when I lay down in bed.
For the record, I want everything I never had.
To be honest, if you’re on board, just don’t be delicate.