what the hell
weird as fuck that I’m back on here. I haven’t come on this site in so long. it’s still funny as fuck, though. I realize that a lot of my stupid factoids and quirks came from this site, and it’s the kind of spice I’m looking for to spruce up my quarantine.
I’m on a break from my relationship. I read through some of the other “diary” posts on here - weird to think that I’ve had more than one significant “romantic” encounter. it always feels kind of embarrassing when I think about it, being involved with “like” and “love” and whatever the fuck else. it’s humiliating to realize the type of person it turns me into.
I’m wondering if I’m dependent on my partner. when it comes to relationships, I love sharing everything. I don’t want there to be secrets - I want it to feel like we’ve known each other forever, even though I’ve only known him for a year and a half now. I’m wondering if this is too much. I think it might be.
am I doomed to be dissatisfied? he hides his feelings from me. he hides other things from me, little things usually. or things he thinks will upset me. he thinks anything will upset me. I guess it’s gotten to the point that a lot of things upset me, and I think he’s scared of me.
I’m trying to apply to a remote job. I hope I get it. writing this will help me write a cover letter.
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i want to disappear but please keep watching me
i want you so badly to tell me to stay
imagine what would happen if i was just gone one day
would you look for me daily? would you finally pray?
i want to disappear but please ask me not to
put me under pressure i’m already under your thumb
i’d do anything to make myself not feel so numb
i want what we had, no scars and no scum
i want to disappear but you wouldn’t come with me
i want to disappear but you wouldn’t come with me
and i want to disappear but you shouldn’t come with me
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i should have known i should have known
the signs were there but my hair had grown
and my skin was clear and the sky was cloudless
but now i know that the cries are countless
i should have seen the road ahead
hours of flights not streets instead
the beginning is always so beautiful
but weather keeps weathering and weathering all
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i'm writing again and i want to pretend that my mind is still as spry as it was when i first started. people used to cry to my poems. i used to cry at all. art is not suffering and suffering is not art but art requires feeling i think and i think i am either thinking too much or not enough. i am barely feeling at all. i'm trying again and i want to get better even though i fucking hate the pressure that pushes me into myself instead of pulling my "potential" out. if i have potential at all.
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i melted into the couch today and left myself between the cushions a five hour nap to the tv lull with the newspaper making my nest. my cheek was stuck to the arm of the couch - it was warm and i felt safer than i have in a while.
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there's so much good in my blood but it's the little bad that escapes
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how far are feelings
from actions and
how far are we
from each other anymore
we were never really close
because you rarely ever tried
but blood is a bond that
can’t biologically be broken
i will always have your boiling blood
your temper not your temperament
but our skins vary in thickness and
you like to punch walls and hard things
because you like your knuckles tough
yet you’ve taken so many blows
that i can’t figure out whether or not
you actually know
that there’s weight behind them
there’s wait behind them
and there’s a gait behind them
but there’s a gate beyond them
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there’s a lot to love
and only little to give
so i’m fragmented in saying
that i
have
anything
to live
(for)
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it’s ok - you’ve fingered the loose thread
and now you’re curious
you’re tugging at it now but you’re still careful
that nothing tears quite yet
but you’re wondering what you’ll do
will you leave the sleeve tattered
or will you pull another needle through?
cloth’s not that durable
it’s soft but sometimes damage isn’t curable
so you’re careful and you’re careful and you’re
still playing with the string
that’s coming from the remnants of
your latest summer fling
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when we skateboard down the street
the gravel makes my feet feel numb
through my shoes
it’s really bumpy
i would take off my shoes,
but i have to wear them
or else i would look too wild
like a lost dog or a stray cat
and i’m no longer looking to be
picked up or cared for
i can push off on my own
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everything’s in knots -
my shoulders and my lower back -
i want to try acupuncture.
it’s new to me and i’m not
i’ve never felt so old.
things are stagnant now
i still have one crooked tooth
but everything else is ok.
it has been that way lately.
i think it is ok
but there’s the tooth
and the knots
there’s the truth
and the naught
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the wind comes, the door creaks -
i think it’s you.
lately it’s been gray outside
and someone cut the ferns,
but i don’t know who.
i don’t go outside much anymore.
they used to belong to you.
we shuttered up the windows
you’d be scared of the thunder
we’d let you in.
my dad says it’s you.
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a rush - this is what i wanted
a feeling of getting somewhere, going further
being better
and your voices become a whistle
the pain becomes a thistle
nothing hurts nothing bothers
if i’m too far to catch
too fast to chase
if nothing’s kept nothing’s waste
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i am beating myself up
just to impress you
wearing the purple and blue
like a trophy-shaped bruise
and i say it’s not competition -
i’m not jealous i’m ok -
yet all it is is repetition repetition
of misguided, selfish ambition
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when is my renaissance
where is my bridge
i will build it brick by brick -
too heavy for suspension
but
i want to be suspended forever
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i haven’t built a fortress of flowers, just a fortress of gray
a place of solace and indifference in the face of sheer dissonance
and the walls here are cleared they are calm they are closed
there are robust - neither inviting nor insensitive
i have learned to be here
i have learned to be quiet
i have learned to sit in the center floor and deny internal riot
and the town will scream at me
the villagers will come
their torches will be brandished
but i have an unloaded gun
the bullets are in the back the ammunition is hidden
my impulsive arson is over yet the smoke still remains -
and the burns that are left will only last for some days
but i’m a threat i’m a fire i’m a threat and it’s dire
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this is not the home i asked for -
it has destroyed itself, pore by pore,
ruminating in the fire
that has burned through the hearth
and the nurture i give it is only a farce
because nature has twisted its roots
into the heart
the front door is torn from its hinges
and its framework is falling to pieces -
this is not the home i was built for
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