Fragmented and Rambling Thoughts

[snailtongue]

[zooophagous]

“Which one of you punks has been picking on my little boy”

[livinglinebyliquidline]

salutations Poetry Warmest Ayelet Brandman

[livinglinebyliquidline]

My Paradise

I want to run away to somewhere beautiful.

What else can you do after the fall?

After the slippery descent into the realization that you don't belong?

You don't belong with people who make you lie to the friends that took care of obnoxiously drunk, horny, can't walk, throwing up you.

You don't belong with people who look down on you and make you feel like there's nothing right with you, you're just the gum on their shoe.

You don't belong with the people who think that being infallible is the only way to lead.

You don't belong with people who sell their souls just to get a quick buck, just to get a quick fuck, just to get through the day.

You don't belong with these people who ignore you but expect you to call them a friend.

I want to run away to somewhere peaceful.

Somewhere that doesn't care about gossip or drama.

Somewhere that you can look like yourself without being shamed,

somewhere that you can enjoy getting fucked without being blamed,

somewhere that's aware that a short skirt doesn't make it your fault-

but the chemicals in your body still make it seem like you want it,

meanwhile you're contracting, and GOD, does it hurt

to be forced into something you don't want and aren't ready for,

to be forced or coerced into being someone's weapon or toy.

I want to run away somewhere honest.

Somewhere that tells you when your clothes don't match,

somewhere that tells you if you did or said something wrong,

somewhere that tells you if you need some perfume,

somewhere that tells you who did and didn't fuck but that it's none of your goddamn business- and either way nobody judges.

Somewhere you can tell someone that you want to be better friends and have it not be misconstrued as "PLEASE CAN WE DATE??"

Somewhere you can tell someone that you don't like their vibe, they're too self-centered and rude, or loud, annoying, and crude- and you can both just move on.

Somewhere you can tell someone how much you miss sex and there's no confusion over whether or not you just propositioned them- you didn't.

Somewhere it's OKAY to have a sex drive or not, it's OKAY to feel romantic attraction or not, and it's OKAY to feel those things for whoever makes you feel anything good.

I want to run away so badly sometimes,

it's really all I think about in the morning, afternoon, and night.

But one thing stops me every time,

paradise doesn't exist.

[livinglinebyliquidline]

Infallible

Everyone is so obsessed with confidence.

"Confidence makes you sexy."

What if I don't want to be sexy?

What if I don't want the first thing you think when you see me to be

"Damn, I'd fuck her" ?

What if I don't want to be infallible?

What if I just want to be real, I just want to be human?

Why should I pretend that everything is fine,

that I have NEVER done wrong,

that I am better than you could ever hope to be

in EVERY single way?

What gives me the right to undermine your authority

as a human being?

I am not infallible, I say the wrong things and I fuck up

so often, why should I hide that?

If I hide that, I don't get the chance to learn,

I don't get the chance to try to be better,

I just stay the same because I have to keep pretending

that I AM the best, there is no such thing as "better"

because I am, the best. 

What gives me the right to act like I'm better than you?

Our differences don't make us superior,

they just make us real. 

What's so wrong with being real?

And what's so wrong with being fake?

Why do we look down upon the plastic surgery, 

the weaves, extensions, tans, scientology?

Why do we look down on anything unfamiliar?

Just because a nose or boob job don't appeal to me

why should I stop you from feeling good about yourself?

Just because I don't believe in any god,

why should I stop you from having hope that life will get better,

that someone out there loves you and is watching out for you?

Just because I love my pale and freckled skin and the tattoos that cover my arms,

why should I look down on you for liking to tan or not wanting tattoos?

After all, my doctor did say I was severely lacking vitamin D, and always struggles to find my veins because the green of the tattoos is in the way.

And just because I don't feel comfortable fucking or even flirting,

why should I stop you from enjoying someone else's body and affection filling you up with pure bliss- whether it's someone you just met or someone you've known for years?

Why shouldn't we own up to exactly who we are, even if we've changed?

After all, we do these things just to love ourselves more, don't we?

I don't want to play at superiority and I don't want to judge, police, and shame you for being who you are- if I was born or raised just a little different, I'd be thrilled to be as lovely as you are.

What gives me the right to play God?

What gives you?

[livinglinebyliquidline]

Unraveling the Inexplicable (Mind)

What I’m trying to say is that it’s impossible to explain the truth.

It’s like when you have a migraine and the throbbing, banging

only ever subsides for a few hours to come back stronger

and drive you fucking insane. It’s debilitating and dangerous,

it leaves you curled up in a corner of a party that has hours until the end

because the cops haven’t shown up yet. And everything’s totally fine.

 ---

But it doesn’t matter what happens. The exterior is fine,

it’s the interior that’s fucked. If I were to tell you the whole truth

you would know that I haven’t had the happiest past, but even if I did the banging

wouldn’t stop. I’ve been raped, abused, controlled, neglected, and abandoned so my tolerance for pain is stronger

than most; but much like alcoholism, the higher your tolerance the easier it gets to be drunk- and that’s when you’re in dangerous

territory. The more you’re used to pain, the less you notice the pain as more than an underlying truth and that’s when you start to welcome the end.

 ---

For some reason, people who have never been there always think that the end

is an impulsive decision that can be cured with an “I love you” and “you’re fine”

and “don’t be selfish” and “these problems can be fixed” because in truth

“this is a permanent solution to a temporary problem.” Sometimes I dream about banging

those ignorant people’s heads in. Yes, those things can be applied to some people- “toughen up, kid. Gotta be stronger

to get through life.” All of us are controlled by chemicals and those of us with an imbalance are more dangerous.

--- 

Maybe not always to others, but at least to ourselves. Dangerous,

like someone should send us to a hospital or even ECT. We want to end

it. Not for everyone, that would be selfish- assuming everyone felt the same. “But it’s fine,

I never wanted to bring anyone else down.” And that is the truth.

We know that life itself will get better, we know we’re cared for, but the ceaseless banging

is inside our heads, not caused by an event. Looking past an event is one thing, but to overcome chemicals in your mind you would have to be much stronger.

--- 

You would have to be able to battle mountains, stronger

than the chemicals in your brain and more dangerous

than standing on the surface of the sun. Those words have been the last of every fairy tale, “The End”-

so why not ours? Can we stop being in distress and control our own fates? It’s fine

to diet and control your weight, fine to work hard for what you want, and if it’s fine to speak the truth

why isn’t it fine to control when and how you leave, too? Just because I have no interest in banging.

 ---

I have no interest in getting through classes to get through each day paying bills, banging

every random guy with every crappy pick up line and “damn, honey, you fine! I know something stronger

than melatonin to help you sleep!” Followed by an eyebrow raise and an obvious reference to his dick. But opening up is dangerous

even if it’s just your legs to creepy assholes like that and not your heart to anyone who might not want you to end

your friendship or relationship with them. But that’s why you tell them you’re fine

and write letters so that when it’s time, they can read your apologetic truth.

 ---

Because the dangerous truth is that there’s nothing anyone else can do

to stop the banging, there’s no level of strength stronger than you are,

and with every “I’m fine” you’re closer to relief, contentment, and the end.

[livinglinebyliquidline]

Zombie Parasite

Life’s a bit harder with a monster in your head.

It’s not just outside events that bother you,

it’s what happens when your own mind wishes you dead.

 ---

Many people are fine as long as someone’s in their bed,

but all of the loving company in the world won’t make it untrue:

life’s a bit harder with a monster in your head.

 ----

You can try to ignore it because that’s how you were bred,

but still under every smile will be the truth with no visible cue

it’s what happens when your own mind wishes you dead.

 ---

You convince yourself that friends like each other better than you, instead

of remembering that the biggest thing pushing them away is you.

Life’s a bit harder with a monster in your head.

 ---

They prefer each other’s company when being led

to the next party, but the thoughts escaping your lips are what keeps that true.

It’s what happens when your own mind wishes you dead.

 ---

No one wants to be friends with the dead,

they want someone lively to laugh and share secrets with, but that’s something I can’t always do.

Life’s a bit harder with a monster in your head,

it’s what happens when your own mind wishes you dead.  

[livinglinebyliquidline]

External, Internal, Surface-level.

Stop banging on the fucking wall!

It sounds too much like the throbbing in my head,

feels too much like the aching of my bones.

---

That incessant and insistent noise that just won't stop

telling me that this doesn't go away, I have to deal with this forever.

Meanwhile I tell all of the doctors, "It's okay, I'm used to debilitating pain."

---

Can you just fuck off for once? Just for fifteen minutes, even.

Can you let me breathe, smile, laugh? I'm begging here.

Let the aches go away and bandage all of the cuts.

---

I've forgotten a world without that banging, throbbing, aching.

I'm not sure I've ever known what it's like not to have this disease.

It's in your mind but it's chemistry, circuitry, and it affects your anatomy.

---

The banging on the thin wall separating you from neighbors can make sense to strangers,

but even your closest friends can't understand the never-ending throbbing in your mind

or how you live with physical pain that would send them to the ER.

---

Well, it's simple. Other people's problems don't affect you too long term,

but the disaster in your brain has long since made you forget the fear of death, and welcome it wholeheartedly. You say that you're ready, and you are, you feel no regrets, you've traveled so far but without plans of moving onward as you know this internal throbbing won't subside.

After that, physical pain really isn't so bad.

[livinglinebyliquidline]

Life: The Hardest Love to Leave

Can we go to a place that we both know?

Somewhere we’ve never been before,

somewhere the wind can blow,

even without gravity.

—-

Can you make a stone heart feel again?

Can you make a young girl believe again?

Like she believed in you back then,

Like I did before you came

—-

and went away too soon

I swear to you

that I won’t go.

But if you choose,

I’d let you loose,

I’d give you everything

you asked for.

—-

Can you tell me what it used to mean

when your eyes would shine as you looked at me

when your kiss could silence all my fears

and now you kiss her.

—-

Can you tell me that you love me still?

Can you say you’d shake if I disappeared?

Can you tell me honestly

that life has had its way

—-

and went away too soon

I swear to you

that I won’t go.

But if you choose,

I’d let you loose,

I’d give you everything

you asked for.

—-

I can’t make the past all disappear,

and I can’t blame you for not being here,

I can’t blame you not staying still,

not when I pushed you away.

—-

I just hope you don’t remember 

who I am.

I just hope that I don’t ever

cause you pain.

—-

Hope has come and gone

I won’t be long,

I swear to you,

I’m leaving.

And if you chose,

I’d keep you close,

I’ll never let you leave

her.

[livinglinebyliquidline]

Write what you know.

Think of fairytale.

What pops up in your head?

Love, a damsel, and prince charming standing there.

Well, how do you write or speak of such a thing

when you've only seen it in books or on a screen?

I am foolish, though I once was more.

I once thought myself in love with every brown-eyed ghoul.

Every guy who differed from the norm,

every guy who went on to *figuratively* consume my flesh, mind, and soul.

For a week, maybe two.

But then I'd get bored, or realize I didn't know him at all.

There was one that lasted years,

with his lies going from ear to ear.

But they were lies and it wasn't love,

and how can I believe in love when I know that it's a lie?

How can I consider myself a damsel, or wait for a prince charming

when I know the only one capable of rescuing me from metaphorical fire-breathing dragons

is the same one exhaling ecstasy at every fantasy of dying?

I am the only one who can or wants to save me,

I am no one's first, second, third, or twenty-sixth's priority.

Maybe I don't want to save myself,

so why would I want to invent images of love?

Of unconditional, honest, dirty, messy, partnership

that takes years of work to maintain, 

is so often just a game,

and a journey of self-discovery?

Why should I take anyone on a journey

when I know exactly where that journey leads?

So sorry, very sorry,

but I simply can't concede. 

[livinglinebyliquidline]

I can't complain, my brain is driving me insane.

I don't believe in my own happiness. 

How can I possibly? I've been taught

for years that I don't deserve happiness.

I don't deserve kindness, affection, and

definitely not love. I am not good

enough for any job. I don't deserve

praise, or your approval, not even my

family has been known to give me that.

So how should I believe in happiness?

Should I make believe that life can be more?

That it can be better, that it will- through

magic- change one night? Or should I pretend

that if I work hard enough, it will all

pay off? I'll have whichever prince charming

and a career that I love, everything

the American Dream is all about?

Because I'm not one of the lucky ones.

Those things don't happen to people like me.

And it's not that I'm white, or I'm smart, or

that the "nice guy always finishes last."

It all comes back to what I can't explain,

this disease that keeps on drowning my brain.

[livinglinebyliquidline]

What future?

With everything that's happened lately, I

can't stop thinking about my future, my life.

I can't help but think that I'll never be

happy. I'll never have the job I want,

I'll never fall in love and have him

(whoever he may end up) love me back,

I'll never keep friends for long or even

let myself get close, when I really need

them I'll push them away like I always

do. I'll do the same with any lover

I'm lucky enough to attract, and I'll

lose any job I care about because

of this disease. It all comes back to it-

this fucked up thing holding me prisoner.

I can't escape no matter what I do,

the pills make it worse, and the doctors just

irritate me, and I can't ask for help

not when things are that way. Not when my mind

has no say in how I behave or feel.

It never gets better for long, the highs

only preempt the lows, and I'm always

just stuck here fighting hard against myself.

[livinglinebyliquidline]

Provoking the Privileged.

The old man entered the room, pushing the

dressers that had been moved in front of the

door to stop anyone from coming in.

He found me cradling the lion I’ve

had since infancy while sitting in the

closet he built himself. I recall as

I explained what happened, he sat there just

waiting for his turn to speak. “I know your

brother shouldn’t have come after you, but

you really should not have made him angry.”

[livinglinebyliquidline]

How long should I keep writing

before the words stop making sense?

How long do I have to keep writing

before I reach somewhere with depth?

I told them I would fly

and I flew so far away.

I told them I would rise

but I have fallen in dismay.

When will I arise

to win this race?

When will I be the prize

you keep above your fireplace?

But this is all a game

and I am just a toy.

It will always be the same

and I will always be last choice.

Last choice, first possibility

'cause no one has ever wanted this.

Lust responding to your pulsing veins

'cause that's the most they ever want from me.

I told them I would fly, and I 

crashed so hard instead.

I told them I would rise so high

but the struggle and the strife got in my head.

I won't be looking back

at all the promises I didn't keep.

Everyone who knew me then

won't recognize my speech.

[livinglinebyliquidline]

It only hurts when I'm alive.

It only hurts when I'm breathing in deep,

exhaling all my hope and love

and inhaling all the negative shit.

I could swallow some pills to distill the pain,

but then I'd lose the love, too.

It feels as though there is no pain left to gain

but then I try and the darkness gets worse

without the light that I need to endure.

It's only bad when I'm still breathing,

when I sleep my dreams are filled with fears.

Death and loss color all of the hours waking

up screaming, pouring rain in tears.

But then there are the other dreams

(they're even worse).

The ones I want, the fantasies that'll never be real.

With love and sex, power and success that always seem

just out of reach because of the way my mind and body feel.

It'll never be real, it'll never come true,

this pain is haunting me and won't leave.

It's stuck in my heart and brain, turning blue

without breath or fresh air for a moment of relief.

It's in my brain.

It's in my head.

This incessant throbbing pain

will let me live, except I'm living dead.

[livinglinebyliquidline]

Who is the monster

and who is the man

when you take what you want

and steal what you can?

When you're on the verge of tears

and happy's the fakest you've been.

It's about time you fess up to your sins.

I'm sorry I lied

when I said I could fly

but I thought you'd catch me

when instead you let me crash

on my face, on my nose

making a splash

in the mud as I struck a disgruntled pose.

I never expected this from you,

when I showed respect and admiration

I expected those returned,

but instead your patience goes unearned.

Despite my sincerest efforts

to be the name gracing your heart.

I just wonder if it's worth the struggle,

if my pain and tears

are worth the way you grin

as you continuously tell me

I will never be good enough

for precious you who piously controls

everything I'm allowed to do.

[livinglinebyliquidline]

So much for friendship

Honesty, honestly?

“I think it’s overrated.”

When I ask you any question

you forget that you could be wrong,

because as far as you’ve admitted

the world’s been yours all along.

You’re obsessed with “good guy syndrome”

because it’s always someone else’s fault,

but you always project yourself.

You make your faults theirs,

and are convinced they’ll repeat the same mistakes-

-but still you refuse to admit that the mistake was yours to make,

“Yeah, but she did this and that, I was just reacting.”

Frankly, my friend- when it’s convenient-

I’m sick of your negative shit.

You complain and you bitch,

life’s out to get you

despite your insane amounts of privilege.

You’ve got life on a platter

a silver sliver of your California blood,

you’ve got every option,

you just don’t feel enough.

You feel nothing, except when you’re drunk

(which you usually are)

but again- you never admit it.

And you wonder why

your girl friends like guys who are dicks.

Big secret, are you ready for the big reveal?

The only difference between you and them

is that they admit to it,

while you still try and pretend to be a noble prince.

[livinglinebyliquidline]

Well wishes.

May the kool-aid be ever in your flavor

or some other over-used cliche 

from a movie you saw as a teenager.

I hope you find a girl that sees you're special

or whatever way you want her to think of you

(I imagine, kind of like the way I do).

Basically, what I want to say...

I know some things will never happen,

but I'm happy as long as you are,

and I'm glad I met you at all.