everything’s complicated
everything’s a struggle
have you noticed?
it’s a psychological horror
is this feeling the ‘adult disillusionment’ I keep hearing about?

I mean, things work, if you sit on them like an egg—
if your mother things along and helicopter a result.
I mean, what do people do who don't have
my resources and sunny disposition?

I get America’s increasing paranoia but I think that it's *** backwards. Even if someone's were out to ‘get’ you, no one actually cares about doing their job anymore. There's just so little competence around, that the dysfunction feels intentional. And because you need something and you’re helpless, you can't help but feel targeted.

But I think I figured it out, so let me elucidate—they aren't giving YOU bad service, it isn't personal—everyone is getting bad service, two pieces of chicken in the box when you ordered three, five day delivery when you’re clearly paying for two, failure’s become routine—endemic.

My go-to phrase has become, “What’ll it cost?” (the answer, usually: twice as much) “Make it so,” I say, swiping something with my Apple Watch, and suddenly, everything works!
.
.
A song for this:
decide to be happy by MisterWives

Don't let the little things get to your head,
Because if you do, your love will lay dead.

He holds my gaze with trembling hands,
A man torn by tides, shifting sands.
He says he wants me—but I know the ache,
The ghost of her still in his wake.

Her name lingers like smoke in the air,
And now his ex—her shadow is there.
Whispered confessions, a flicker of doubt,
A heart that wanders, a love stretched out.

Yet I do not judge; how could I dare?
I see the storm he’s learned to wear.
A mind that battles, a heart that’s bruised,
A tangle of love and paths confused.

I see my soul reflected in his eyes,
A twin flame’s fire, where truth and shadow lie.
I know his hunger, the ache to feel whole,
The battles within, the wars of the soul.
I understand the need, the longing for love,
The self-sabotage, the push, the shove.
For his self-doubt mirrors my own scars—
Two hearts aligned, yet torn apart by stars.

I’m hopeful for us, yet I’ll tread with care;
His patterns linger, my heart’s aware.
Yet I won’t worry, I won’t let the anxious thoughts win.
I’ll trust the journey, let the healing begin.
For love is a path both fragile and strong,
And what’s truly meant for us won’t steer us wrong.

Yet I can’t help it; my chest now tightens as I dream of us:
Will his promises hold, or crumble like dust?
Will I be the anchor, or just another shore?
Will he seek solace where he’s been before?

Still, I’ll stay and never judge, for I know his pain—
The weight of loss, the ache of shame.
I understand the wounds, the scars unspoken,
Our fragile hearts, so easily broken.

I’ll let time flow, let it all unfold,
For fate has a way of taking hold.
What’s meant to be will find its way,
Through light or shadow, come what may.

For if he can choose me, leave the past behind,
I know we’ll find peace in love redefined.
But I’ll still tread lightly, for love is a thread,
And trust is a bridge I’ll build with my dread.

i strip my skin, to show you my flesh. and i am met with tears and apologies muffled by your sobbing. i would cry with you, comfort you, tell you how good of a person you are. but now, my scars revealed again, i point at you shamelessly and i tell you it’s your fault. where sympathy and pity was, i only hold resentment. maybe in a few years i will have clarity, a new perspective, and i will feel guilty for how i was, but not now. you complain about your burdens and i take them on. the weight of it all.
everyday i feel it, my body, dropping a little lower. my feet once stable, now cramping under the pressure. and so i cut myself open and i tell you of my bruised body, but still. you can only cry and look at me, without ever doing anything.

Spitting up blood;
Living, dying,
What's its worth?
I feel as the Emerald Ash Borer,
Hated by those around me
And stamped upon
Until I am eradicated
Whilst those same people
Attempt to find some use from me
Before I am killed.
These are not loving societies,
Reflected in our treatment of others;
It was very nice to have known all of you.