I have anger issues like my dad. He’s in jail for drinking and driving. Reminds me of Bukowski, except not as smooth. I bet the liquor goes down smooth. Or the women Bukowski ******, I bet they went down pretty **** smooth. Either way I’m like both of them. A writer, drunk, lost soul, *** addict, emotionally unstable. It’s okay because I’m going places.
I tried the corner stores and the bars. They won’t sell to minors or they want to sell minors. **** men, I tell ya. So I always end up back at Jolly’s, the ice cream parlor. The owner has a lesbian granddaughter that I met at the beach last summer. She isn’t a good sight, tries to look like a boy, and still wears a bikini top. **** women, I tell ya. I usually order a rootbeer float. It’s a decent place because he gives you a legitamate amount of icecream. I suppose I’m a regular now, because I come in the winter. It’s not very fun, but it gets me out of the house. My dad called me Christmas Eve when I was orderin my icecream. The calls are 2 dollars for 20 minutes. My grandma pays for it. He said they were taking him to the hospital because of a error in his liver. He didn’t tell me details and I started to worry. Maybe it was cancer. He is a ******* drunk, or was. He’s been working on it for my sister and I. That call was 15 minutes and 5 seconds. He said goodbye and I told hm we had 5 more minutes. Then in the most weak voice I’d ever heard the man I believed to be the strongest he said, “ They’re taking me away now .” I told him I loved him, didnt finish my icecream, and pondered on that last sentence. Making it more deep than it was, but what can I say? I always finish my icecream.
I searched for liquor and went to all the stores to attempt to buy a pack. It didn’t work, A very kind-hearted lady gave me 2 of her smokes though. Back at home, I watered down mums stash and got a light buzz. If my father knew the things I do and have done. I’m so mature, worrying about him. It’s great because no one worries about you when you play the role. I’m a ******* actress. Then he called and I tried not to act happy or sad or anything because I wasn’t any of those. Yet my body does what it wants because it has been acting fake for all those rich men I go to dinner with. Stupid *****, those men. I roofie them. By the time we arrive at their dwelling they are out. I take the credit card numbers down, take all the *****, cigarettes, smash all electronics, drug em enough for 5 days and memory loss. Anyways, father told me it was nothing and that he was fine. I smiled and he smiled. I could feel it through the phone. We have an odd bond. So I started talking about my anger and road rage. I told him that he still owes me a knife and pepperspray. He agreed. I went on to propose he buy me a gun, so I could ‘pop a cap in a muthafukas tire’ when they drive like an idiot. He told me I was crazy like himself. We said we’d help eachother with our feelings.
“I love you baby girl”
“Love you too dad”
“Dont hurt no one”
“Okay”
Soon after I realized what he said and how it’d apply to us. I was in a car after all. I felt like I was going to cry. Then I started giggling. Everyone looked at me like I was crazy. It was okay because I was going places in life. Following my dreams.
My father was okay and I could sneak into a crowded bar, so life was good. I ended up at home thinking about **** humans. It was angering. My partner was avoiding me. He called it ‘trying to not develop feelings’. I called it ‘******* dude, you better **** me’. He’s such an idiot. He calls me dumb, despises of my writing, and places his hand on the back of my head when I’m ******* him off. He’s a mental **** that thinks he’s the next Jimi Hendrix. He’s not going places though, he couldn’t follow his dreams if he wanted to. He makes me feel though. Rage. Nirvana. Jealousy. Oh how he brought another girl in once. Then had the nerve to hang her picture up. I suppose it wasn’t that bad, for I saw I was prettier physically. That’s when I got even more ******. What if he was in love with her? Not just her body, like he is with mine. So I wrote some poetry and wrote a letter to my non-existent friend. Basically wrote a diary entry. All this for a big **** in my ******? Wonder where I’m going. They broke up. Thank the lord satan! Maybe I’m going to hell.

Monsters

I think the moment you discover that the dark isn't scary, is the moment that you realize monsters live in the light as well. And as you realize that this is all true, you also realize that monsters come in the form of humans too.

You have been raised to fear bears, or sharks, and even the invisible non-existent monsters such as the boogie-man, demons, and vampires. But the most common, most lethal monster that you always seem to forget is yourself.

You walk the streets and roads everyday. You walk in field of flowers and weeds. You rise above others, competing for affection or wealth. You start wars, to cover your own flaws and mistakes. You fights wars go keep up appearances. You laugh at others -and make fun- to appear stronger than them. You make games of others emotions, and you play with their minds, make them bend. You laugh and you poke and you **** at them.

Therere is a moment when you realize that the dark isn't scary, it isn't full of all of the monsters we fear any more than the light is. It doesn't add any weakness to you, it doesn't add any advantages to them.

You will become free, your soul reaches up from the pit of youf humanity, and into the sky. It grabs onto the clouds and brings them down to you. The purest of rain, will fall upon your head. the water will be warm, and it will cleanse the monster from within you.

The rain isn't real, and there isn't a legitamate little monster subsiding inside of you, let's just say our humanity limits you. It takes what you need and puts it before what you want. It's an instinct it can't be helped, but when you realize said thing is a monster is the day that the rain from God will touch your head and there in that moment, you will see that the dark and the light co-exist inside of you, and that's how it was meant to be.

The monster is supposed to be there.

The want to rid is as well.

The fear of it, and what it can do is there too.

And the need, no want, for something more;

Something not mundane,

Something powerful yet gentle,

Strong yet serene.

Beautiful but not vain,

Something timeless, yet childish.

Wise and intelligent.

Old and young.

Something completely...

...not human.

Because humanity is where all monster originate.