the smell of…..

if i could write a letter to ife it would go something like this–

dear life: i didn’t mean to give up on you so soon. really. i mean, i know you don’t believe me but sometimes you seem too demanding on my heart. maybe i am just selfish, although suicide is made for the selfish. maybe thats why i am not writing a suicide letter. maybe i am not as selfish as i sometimes think myself to be.

Anyway I am writing to you because I sometimes wish that i was given more of a chance than i think i am sometimes. i know that the people who “really” know me, enjoy my little kinks and quirks. they look forward to the meaningful conversations that i know i am capable of. unfortunately life, too often most people couldn’t “handle” that. and i came across as morbid or depressed.

i am really not “that” depressed life, just some what anti-social and disconnected. im sure you can forgive me for this as it was you that decided to kick the shit out of my year.

it’s true sometimes i didn’t want to even try to be in tune to the real world. i just hid behind anything i could to try to keep myself from feeling more pain, than what is already there— and still un-mended. it’s not that i meant to wait so long, it’s just that i am so “far” from it, that i have no idea where to begin. the beginning is probably the best place, i am certain of that. it’s just that its so far to walk to get there, that i am afraid of getting tired before i even start.

i just can’t handle more, sometimes, than what i have already. maybe that makes me selfish, and maybe that makes me self-centered. a “typical” person. i don’t know.

i just hate the fact that with you comes death, and really he’s kind of a wanker wouldn’t you say? i know i should learn to appreciate him for who he is, but sometimes i just want to pants him infront of a large crowd.

anyway, my eyes are shutting as i write to you, so i must be going.

just do me a favor, if i am reincarnated, just make sure it’s in someone really really stupid. someone who is “normal” and talks about “normal” things, and goes about “normal” activities. oh and while you are at it, make sure that i am not lonely in the next life. and if i am, don’t fuck with the people who keep me from being lonely.

much thanks,

xoxo.

Here’s to the person I thought I was…[on 22]

I am a hermit among men….

I remember when I first saw this ad. It was at a time, where I felt like I could do anything, almost. That who I was, would help shape the world some day. I believed that there MUST be some BIG plans out there for me. And I would like to believe that it was at this time that I was anything but negative. I was cynical, yes, but not negative.

And ever since my grandmother passed, it’s like life is just ripping away those that I want to be around me. If I was still a Christian I would take it as some sort of test of self, and I’d go back to the belief that I still hold that you should never be emotionally involved with someone if you are not okay alone.

Maybe that’s what happened. Maybe I am not okay alone, so I am not okay with other people.

I read once too, that your real life, comes out full speed in Second Life (this weird virtual second life type game). And no matter how “cool” I dress…. or how “good” my dance moves are…. I am still a wanderer. Now, parts of me have always wanted to find something needed in this type of person…in the type who I am. I have also had conversations with friends who are the same “type” and I guess we all feel the same. No real close group to be connected to, yet connected at the same time. A friend tonight told me, randomly (although knowing her it probably wasn’t too random either as she’s pretty intuitive) “You’re ok, and you’re going to be fine.” And, she explained this as, “you’re nice….and you’ll find your place eventually….”

Yet, I feel so disintegrated from EVERYTHING. Everything everyone tells me life is supposed to be. And because of my place is outside looking in—- and seeing the wonderful people alongside those who are more wicked than seems managable….

I feel like the outcast..the misfit…the square blocks in circle holes….because….if there are people who seem to me to be crueler than I—– and they have people who love them……there MUST be something really wrong with me….

or just not enough love for me to have…. and just enough for me to give….

Until we meet again….

L.T.R.R.T.M.Y.
M.T.W.B.A.A.Y.B.
M.T.S.S.W.U.Y.F.A.
T.R.F.S.A.Y.F.

A.U.W.M.A.
U.W.M.A………

Finally…

I called you once my lover.
Or the lover of–
But were you really? Or–
was I just—

decieved?

Because I was never able to
explore. To figure out
myself. And the thought
made me feel less than whole.

Can you really be a lover? It
seems impossible for even
friendship, and yet it’s–

what they claim of you.

In fact– they claim a lot. They
tell me I’m a sinner
although I’ve never been
sure of what it means.

Instead, I’ve been obsessed with
following fire as it burns
upon a hilltop.

Their voices ring between one another,
carrying heavy words,
and the cliches drip from their
mouths like foam.

How am I supposed to find
you here, and understand
what it means, when–

I am told that I’m not good enough.

—-the worst of them all

That my questions call for stoning,
and my cynicism—

hell.

I’d like to think you are different,
but really its hard to know. Because
you’re shut up, up there
worrying about: how again they’ve done it wrong.

How again,

they’ve missed the point…

__________________________

We are the same,
you and I. We both feel
love, and pain

–we both have financial hardhsips
–emotionally troubling times.

We can both be manipulated
and manipulate each other.
We can sing and speak and scream.

(even silently).

We can belive in God (or not)
thank or curse him for what
he has or hasn’t done.

We can ignore every bad
thing or allow them to make us

-cynical.

And just because we exist
together, we can help one another.
Or choose to condemn each other
for our faults— because of our convictions.

Or pretend or be real.

We can ask useful questions or
questions that we already know
the answers to.

Yeah, we are the same you and I.
even if you sit

—and i stand.