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| The girls were never told that the dance was a metaphor,
And that standing in third position was symbolic of aging whores.
To the boys it was never mentioned that the goal was mere synecdoche,
for population, expectation, and entrapment soon to be.
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| Ever since I had sex for the first time I have kept a journal regarding my partners. This was something my older brother taught me to do.
It started out being pages of adoration of the girl I had just had amazing self-discovery with. It now reads much like a phone book.
Name, address, phone number, fetish, and adjective.
To be honest, I'm not sure how the adjective became part of the yellow pages of my bedroom; however, I do know that Karen is "steamy" and that Jessica is "Spicy."
I also know Stephanie is, "cantalopy". I assume that is in reference to the fruit. I have also come to accept that I don't make entries in the most sound of minds.
I work at AT&T. I apologize.
I placed an ad in the personals yesterday. I masturbate twice a day almost religiously. I enjoy pudding.
It is awkward meeting a girl you've slept with in public places and remembering only her adjective.
For instance, I met- formally 'tasty" now "vindictive"- a girl of the beforementioned status. On second thought that story isn't that good.
I've thought about what my adjective may be and I've decided its most likely, "skinny" or "mediocre".
(In progress)
I've decided to start posting in progress pieces | | |
| Dear Rebecca,
Would you laugh if I told you that until the age of 12 I believed in unicorns and that one day my true love would need rescuing from an evil monster?
What if I told you that I knew Santa Clause was never real and that the Tooth Fairy was your mom?
Would you question the strange jumps in belief or why a magic horse was more real to me than a happy, obese man I see every year at Macy's?
What if I told you I loved your personality, but hated your soul?
What if I didn't punctuate this sentence
Or provide a subject for the next?
Would the shift in style shake your mind?
(In progress, heavy revision) | | |
| To all the ones who think they know me best, a test to prove your prowess- Who was mine in '99 I want last names and current status. | | |
| My introversion,
is diversion from you noticing who I am.
A veil to hide,
whats left inside, shattered pieces of a man.
But yet your eyes pierce through the layers,
Finding ways and asking favors to break through all the surface players,
of those who I wish to be.
To you I've never lied,
but I have tried, to mask my imperfections with strength.
These omissions
sweet contradictions, of who I claim and what I am.
So break me out of my twisted vanity, reinstate my sanity, bring me back humanity,
because without them I am sand.
Sand on the beach,
of which waves reach, are mailable and never stable stand.
Lost in the water,
an identity slaughter, shakes and breaks the land.
So come save me my rugged sailor,
free my heart; slay the jailer.
Allow my reality to be what all the people see
and not what I see in myself at night.
Because alone I sit on this pier,
wasting time; drowning here.
Wanting to live my life, put away the strife,
that blackens my light and makes me bleed.
My introversion,
is conversion, of strength in thought to weakness of heart.
I win at trial,
but lack the heart to smile, when alone and party only to myself.
For when there is nothing left to burn, you must set yourself on fire,
Then either burn for something.
Or expire.
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