homesickness, the cancer of longing
incurable, chronic, olympus is long gone yet the stars whisper my name too loud and google maps robotically denies my requests for astral planes, or summer 10 years ago. my bones ache and my mother doesn’t know me anymore and my boyfriends never knew me at all. home isn’t a person or a brain-melting high and i have everything i wanted when i was 12 but i’m stuck yearning for something I’m not sure exists. i wonder, do the dandelions born from the breath of my selfish desires reproach me? do they despise me, my ungrateful, festering stagnation? i’m smart enough to cling onto a wild hope, to believe in something above all of the sugar-free shit congealing in my stomach, in something more than boners and exit wounds and convenience stores. i’m stupid enough to search for it in smoke and liquor and starvation.
what a strange feeling- to have my feet firmly planted on the ground, to feel my unbelonging in the creak of my joints, but to be bound to take one step after another until i collapse. until i'm back in the pulse. recovering lover, i can’t drop the act, i can’t stop this intolerable humanity that runs through my veins, hot and red, persistent through all the chemtrails and meaningless media. filthy, i am repulsed by my desire to fuck, to laugh, to love boys with slippery hearts and sticky eyes.
oh god, the longing makes me nauseous.
