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Reclaimed independenceAround this time last year I was writing from my apartment. Well, if you can't already guess, I'm not there anymore. My ex-roommate (formerly best friend) had turned out to be a complete nightmare to live with. She had nothing but criticism for EVERYTHING I said, did, or felt. She kept me isolated from my friends, my family, pretty much tried in vain to break me down and make me dependent on her for counsel, companionship, like to where my life didn't exist away from her. She knew from the first day we were in that apartment that I was trying to scrape together the $150 needed to make a pet deposit to bring my cat Lucy in, but she turned around and moved in her large-breed dog! EVERYTHING in that apartment was hers! The apartment was practically spotless 98% of the time because I was the one cleaning it, while her bedroom was in utter and complete SQWALOR!
There was this one occasion in July, when she r
NothingI'm neither happy
no trace of emotion
that I once had
you stare at me
I avoid your eyes
I scratch my thumb
as I hear your sighs
the excuses I give
why I seem cold
you believe not a word
that you're told
I won't give the reason
you might as well quit
I simply feel nothing
that's pretty much it
The ThespianSweeping across the stage
in my character
as if they were
from the heart
into true emotion
crashing my lips
of my fellow actor
but keep in mind
It's not me
It's my character
when I'm on that stage
I don't exist
It Gets BetterIn my 19 (almost 20) years of life, It is apparent that as a young woman in america, I'm a lot of things.
for starters, I'm a twilighter. I'm also a Gleek, a bookworm, and a 2nd generation Trekkie. I am also Bisexual and middle/high school was pure hell! in 7th grade, I was being called a dyke when I wasn't even out to myself yet! And the torture continued through my freshman year of high school, and that year I tried to take my own life (still have a scar). The failed attempt helped wake me up that I was letting the pain and alienation control my life and that I was taking for granted the love and support from my family and what few friends I had. speaking of family, I remember back when I was about 15 and I came out to my mom, I was SO scared and nervous, when I told her I started crying! She laughed and gave me a hug, telling me not to cry and that it was nothing be ashamed of, and that both the male and female body is beautiful. Now that I've shared what I dealt with, I want you to
Feet in CementI've been staring at this mirror for about ten minutes now, trying to figure my life out. Sort out where I've been, where I am, where I'm going. I stare at my appearance, wondering how many people who've seen my family and guessed I was adopted. Hardly anyone has gotten close enough to notice that mom and I have the same eyes, assuming the red, curly hair was coincidence. The numbers on that scale go up and down like bipolar mood swings, but I fail to see any difference in the spare tire around my waist that's been there since I was 13. Standing there, full-chested but not enough ass to center gravity. I've never in my life felt pretty, but people around insist on it. It's not like I think they're full of shit or pulling my leg or anything like that, it's just when I hear them saying it, it feels meaningless. I dropped out of school for almost two years ago now, and there are SO many processes I need to take, but I have NO idea where to start. So many things in the air, all out of reac
find what you hateon my skeleton alleyways are built,
gaps and craters. suicide pact-bound teens
walking into lava.
i spied on them like an nsa angel.
a xenocryst pricked my toe.
i was the one veering off the fiery sidewalk,
and saw chunks of motorway half-
regurgitated, ashen smegma
fallout. the language into which
my onanistic fire
suddenly everything had meaning
first of all,
there was someone watching over
our wreckage. and it was
an actthere is a patch of death screen blue in the sky
too obvious to have been painted so it must be natural,
they could've painted it to trick us into thinking so,
no answering machine for the representative of god
except for the rubble smouldering on radiowaves.
the ball was taken away from you by ten bodyguards
escorting you further from the field where only bigger animals play.
i am the bull charging at the matador.
i am the lone center forward running straight into the net.
because you will never
you pay for maze entrance tickets with brain attrition
and every wall is a grater
you pant and itch bumping into migraine
tissue crumbs in looping tracks
triple agent code name ari
mother ships of the mooncatastrophized ...
there's somebody else on the moon
and tasting skin in batches
and saving all they've learned until
the mother ship returns
but it's been heard
she's involved with superstitions
that she's wandered off to find religion
a devil daughter turned
so loose your lips
and let it slip -
there's somebody else on the moon
cache of hornetsit's the interstice that always kills ...
(no emphasis on keeping clean)
and it's a bad, bad night
who stalk jurassic scenes
while below our glowing
nuc a grist
of wasps have balled to death the queen
... roiling in their honey-coated
omnivores' wet dream
wherever the gonzo is goingwe've rediscovered ourselves
hugging the lamppost and screaming polemic indignities
"who threw the rock?"
"we caught the teeth!"
this bravado an asinine secret to keep
from the gerund ...
(we once lived in a building we've been living to re-build)
but now we hover wherever the gonzo is going
dodging indolent beasts with their
and drowning in it -
the transient nature of things
The JackalThe jackal cries by night.
The jackal hunts by night.
The blood is let by might;
The soul is failed starlight.
Though the jackal weeps,
He spares none, who show mercy;
For it is not his way,
And traditions are only broken by the weak.
Crispy Duck Has Crusty Eye No MoreAn itemized list
pardon the pun
the prop masters
the white hot day
a grim twinkle
in the eyes
of that cool
and factory duck 666999666 s
Il y a des toiles de lumiere sur Saturneje veux manger des cerfs courant sur les étoiles
fievreuses ; la nuit on crie au scandale - il y a des morts sur les fenêtres
et on ramassera les danseurs dans les halls des aéroports
celestes ; brûler les souvenirs des technologies nouvelles dans les fours
en Pologne. Il n'y a de salut que pour les sauterelles qui
chantent les louanges du Seigneur se cachant derrière des millénaires
il y a une amertume rouge qui coule dans les veines des intrépides
couleurs de temps, à se réaliser inutiles, esclaves entre deux rêves
d'enfants qui ne voulaient pas voir le soleil se rouler sur le ciel
Southern modernizationBlack comedy market economy, banana peel political humour, cards with the cartels, the solution free room service and credit the union. Bolivar twist, ding dong dollar under control, valley of the coin desert with no value. Gangsta paradise, the victims are the people. Big mac and cold conflict interference a part of it all. In little Mexico you’d need a high horse to jump the great border wall that boasts its peak.
Viracocha melts waters unlike those it rose from, making waves of out of metal oceans to overtake the current south, re-steel, re-take, tech-mechs the entire south into neo-Machu Picchu, cyberpunk music moulding, reshaping old society into an new age, iron dynasty, fresh coat for an old, ancient look. The coattails of Quetzalcoatl if he were a modern man pull together the merge of future and long passed past..techno temples and the like.
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