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I want nothing more than to be that sexy, moody, artistic waif, lounging in a coffeeshop writing poetry, existing off of black coffee and cigarettes.


Monday, May 17, 2010

Don't expect those pictures anytime soon.
I can't guarantee i can even give my wrist enough time to heal
before it's fucking assaulted again.

i feel ridiculous, pathetic.
retreating to my proverbial corner,
clutching Sally to my chest and crying on Ana's frail shoulder.
I need her whispered comforts.
Sally says such lovely things to me,
she is such a comfort.
Ana is always there to remind me that tomorrow is another day,
a better day for control and perfection and happiness.
live another day.
there's no sense in death.
I dont want death, not yet.
too much to be perfected,
too much to experience, enjoy.
not a good enough reason to die yet at all.
i have this life whereas someone else has lost theres
so i will not flush it down the toilet
i will live it and make the fucking best i can of it.

I must have flailed when i'm drunk.
at least when i'm sober i can subconsciously keep track
of how my wrist might be showing.

of how my boyfriend's best fucking friend might see.
of how stories will get mingled behind my back,
of how i had cut, i had cut because of mikki,
no it won't get worse.
i'm not exceptional, i'm not going to ever do more than puny little cuts.
S saw first, that was when he'd asked me about it while drunk.
apparently Mikki saw after, asked S if he had known.
and then M asked me if i was okay, if i'd hurt myself.
he'd heard through the fucking grapevine that i'd cut.
i jsut hope this goddamn grapevine doesn't grow past S, M, and Mikki.
I had told M, it had come up in conversation.
he's amazing easy to talk to.
S had known i used to, i guess he'd assumed i had quit.
and then he saw, for himself.
Mikki had not known.

I'm not looking forward to tuesday.
thank god for monday, and being "sick",
and it being a "pro-d day"
well, it is for the grads.
and i get my days off whenever the fuck i want.

i need to do some homework.

i need sleep.

i need my fucking boyfriend to hold me until i feel better.

i need to cry until i fucking feel better,
but  don't want anyone to fucking see.

(you can't let people see you cry. 
only J has ever seen me cry, 
on the night it was all decided, 
i blame mom, i blame mom. 
trying so hard to maintain control, 
at least don't let the tears fall, 
hold your breath, don't let it catch, 
walk fast walk fast concentrate don't let it get you 
no don't touch me no don't are you fucking stupid 
don't fucking touch me when i'm trying so hard to hold on 
he pulled me into his arms and you don't fucking do that 
because then i will sob and sob and sob. 

I never want anyone else to see me so vulnerable.)

I think i might go visit Sally.
we'll see.
part of me doesn't want to sink that low,
part of me wants to let her go now that more people know
about our sick little tryst.

but who the fuck am I kidding.
I am so incapable of love,
why the fuck would i let go of the closest things i've got.
Ana and Sally are always there for me,
and i love them as best as I can love anyone.
I'm so fucked up.