it’s like no one cares
so why try?
gravity is sitting on me today.
you’d find it hard it believe.
and it’s so easy to disassociate
who you think I am
with what I’m feeling now.
so go ahead.
the only truth is your own view.
it’s completely subjective.
and it hurts –
life, giving life, being life.
I’m afraid to stop trying
because what if I miss out
on something great?
it’s this stupid fucked up idea
that I think I can change you,
think I can help.
and I want to do that – all of it.
but I fumble with the words,
unsteady hands,
trying to smile and look brave.
it all feels alien today.
I want to be that genius kid.
I want to prove you all wrong.
I want to surprise you in the best way.
it’s the message no one wants to hear.
it’s the tears I keep bottled up ’til they burst.
I’m embarrassed by it.
but if I were to tell you, you’d never believe me.
it’d sound fake. it’d sound like I’m making it up
but I’m not. I swear it.
it’s these moments strength is a weakness.
I just want to mean something to someone,
to anyone. Not beg for the attention.
because that’s so messed up.
it doesn’t work that way.
it feels like plastic and gloss.
I am the lioness in the tall grass –
unseen, but seeing everything.
but when it comes to me it’s all cloudy
like the weather in real time.
accurate metaphors.
those are the best kind.
because in this information age
feeling is all we have.
It may be swayed and manipulated
and faked and flipped off,
but they can never take away the essence –
the exploding electrons, sparking nerve endings
shooting up
fireworks to the limbic system
at arousal, at anger, at absolute serenity.
so this is my new thing:
having my fingers do the talking on an impossible wednesday night
(sign language, type language)
nothing leaves my mouth and I can make mistakes and you would never know it
because I just press backspace and the white is clear and pristine as before.
I like it ’cause it’s not real. It’s not really how it is outside the screen.
here it’s all square, all perfect.
and for a moment it all seems beautiful, all seems okay.
but I still have what they can’t take away from me.
it can’t be fixed. I’m stuck with it.
I can’t amputate the shitty feeling that’s weighing me down this evening.
I bring the sideways L to my temple and bend the thumb down
in jest, in play, pretending to restart and start over.
games are so misleading. they always are.
huxleyhuxleyhuxley,
you have scarred me for life.
