oh, ill be free

 i cant hate him but i also think half of my issues about maternity, parenthood and marriage stem from my asexuality and agender identity. 

i canr bring myself to not think its all a sick trap. if they wanted to put a child into me i would fish it out with my hand and crumble its flesh and slurp the blood and liquid off its body, feel as it runs down my chin much like fruit. i would rub it into the gums and teeth of whoever dared challenge me. i would crush the bones between my mollars and sleep on them.

his presence is a haunting presence in my life, so beautiful and rose. i want to be beautiful, i want to fall back and melt into something. i always wanted him to melt onto my feet, hold my calves with bloodied hands and kiss the curve of my feet. kick him off. let him fall back and melt into my chest and clavicles.  i wanted to press on his throat with my fingers. never lay by his side. keep distance. prod. jab, dig.

i hit myself over the counter in my dreams and set fire to the house much as i did in the very first dream i ever remembered. i remember what i was told. my mother who half hates me. my brother, who i love, mommy's little boy, adult and cradled over her side as she berates me. she has a good reason to, ive been nothing but a bothersome bitch. i know that. but so has she. she says i learned my temper from my father, i say i am what she doesnt want to be seen as but ultimately is. everything i do and did. shes done and will do. blood on my robes. i take myself out of the country and drive for miles blasting my rock music, cigarette out the window, sunglasses half covering my face, all i am is what she maybe couldve done, opposite, shes so simple, im something else. 

you or someone else, i am still right here.

i am a narcissist, i am obsessed with my inner world, ive spent my years alone, this is where i go. but ive never tried to use it against others, my misery. only knit the word over and over, knot it into itself to keep myself warm from the cold of the situation. how relieving it is to have a word for it. how i love people. i wake up in a hospital bed and dont even try to fight it. i wake up and the world never stopped, i dont want to play catch-up anymore, i simply want to wake up screaming and then back to sleep, the beat of the machine.

weaknesses are literary creations

 

i remember watching the first season of emily in paris when it came out. me and my mom ordered soup from a restaurant. i was studying for an exam, probably math. futile since i failed a couple semesters later due to being absent for half the cycle. health issues as you may be able to guess. i had a good time. i love my mom. i love her so much. i love how silly she can be, how light, her smile, i love her. she is not the most comforting person ever and she has a hard time not making mistakes in regards to emotional intelligence- concepts such as empathy and whatnot. anyhow, emily in paris. my head hurt so much. i think i had corn or broccoli soup in a bread bowl. or maybe not the bread bowl. im thinking they forgot it. 

quarantine was a very peaceful time for me. i was very tranquil, very serene. i met my best friend during quarantine. i walked around lots around the neighborhood. up and down. thats how we met. i sometimes waited outside his house to see if he came out. i didnt have his number then. thats around when i met the rest of the kids my age around the block. we spent the entire summer doing whatever. nothing at all. we didnt drink, we didnt party, we simply enjoyed each others company and hung out at the park, each others houses. i never liked bringing people over to my house. 

all my friends want to be accountants and programmers and consultants. or engineers. damn me. ¿why must i be so childish? i cant hear the word "sex" without flinching, heart in my mouth. i do not remember who did this to me that first time but i do know who did it last time. 

i brought people to my house last saturday. there was a shooting right after dinner. i got my stomach pieces done that day and my friends were out to dinner, celebrating a birthday. as i was getting tattooed, i heard of some shootings going on nearby towns. i didnt think theyd be here, i felt uneasy. when i got out, i felt a strange vibe soaking the air. i went home alone and waited. my boyfriend was going to host an afterparty, we finished earlier than i thought. i showered, took a nap, and got ready. thats when one of my friends announced about a shooting going on outside their neighborhood. the navy was brought in. thats the kind of violence around here. during summer school, they killed a couple. right outside my campus, 30 minutes after i was right there driving back home. them and eight more people just that day. 

my friends came by to wait for things to cool down. i shot tequila and lime. i cried during independence day. i love my country, i curse these people. 

its so scary how they permeate my world, an open secret. people you know will die over whatever, you cant look into it, cant look it in the eyes too long, have to keep your head low. everyone. its a very unique experience. its the big mens currency. its everywhere. i keep my head low and try not to go out too much. i try to hang at the underworld, i dream of walking the streets of new york, half drunk, i dream of doing burlesque and kicking with drag queens, gay clubs, the underworld. ¿what does heroin smell like?

i dont want to be innocent. innocent is bound to be ripped, scalped right off you. i dont want it back only to get skinned for it again. but i do want to have simple fun, lay. flirt and be fun. what is it. i went out for coffee two weeks ago, it was rainy and beautiful. havent stopped thinking about it. i ordered a hot black coffee and they gave me an iced latte, it was delightful. 

paralyzed

 no matter what i do i feel like im being childish and futile. my desire to paint is childish, my opera persuits are chidlish, my musical persuits are childish, my all of it.

i went out today for coffee and fought with my mom. studied for an exam. nothing else.