iamtotallysaneipromise

[iamtotallysaneipromise]

I wish things were different

[iamtotallysaneipromise]

ive had a corn addiction since I was ten. AND IM A GIRL #womeninmalefields

[iamtotallysaneipromise]

I have no good ideas

[iamtotallysaneipromise]

questioning your faith while also feeling guilty is not for the weak. but I am weak and its happening to me so I guess it is for the weak. so that would mean im weak and im one of the ones that are straying from the faith in the last days. great. great. great. hell here I come baby

[iamtotallysaneipromise]

I have these little ideas. Something that remains unmarred by what I am now. I'd almost call it a variant of who I am like one of those dumb marvel movies. Simultaneously, it's a concept along the lines of Sylvia Plath's fig tree. Ripe, plump, whole, sweet without gluttony. I sit at the base, with the life I have now. In the fig closest I am a photographer. I make documentaries. I give people who are quiet voices. I have curly hair. I am healthy, I am beautiful. In another fig I am a doctor. I live it. I breathe it. I care, and care, and care. I do the right thing. In another fig I am a lawyer, and I fight. I am viscious. My teeth are sharp and I never once apologized for it. In a small fig, which I couldn't tell if it was growing or dying, there was me with a kid on my hip, and I was happy. In the fattest fig of all, I had lots of money, not so much to where I'm a glutton or Jeff Bezos, but I was by myself and I lived happily. I traveled the world by myself. And I wrote. I wrote. I wrote. I had different faces in these. I didn't share the same square forehead as my father. I didn't share blood with a man that will drain you until you've nothing left to give. I didn't share eyes with the mother that would turn a blind eye. I was lovable. I was lovable. I loved myself. I was loved by others. I was. I was. I was.

[iamtotallysaneipromise]

I am disgusting. angry. depressed. I am disgusting. and while I know no one is reading this blog I'll say this. you might assume I am blowing my nastiness, I mean nasty in the most derogatory sense, you might assume im blowing it out of proportion. im not. I am fat. I am ugly. I am angry. I always assume the worst and I judge appearances before character. I am very insecure while simultaneously thinking my opinions are the most based. while also thinking my opinions are dumb. my moral compass is foggy. I don't know who to believe. I am. fat. I dance the line between starving and eating the WHOLE FUCKING STORE. I am selfish. I hate a dad that probably has cancer. yet I dream of someone loving me. someone finding parts of me beautiful and thats SELFSIH. I don't want love I want a fucking mirror. and I don't have a mirror. I don't have what I need. I've felt like I've needed redemption since I was eleven years old.

[iamtotallysaneipromise]

men disgust me. I disgust me

[iamtotallysaneipromise]

there's a saying that all this anger was once love.

That's under the assumption that anger is polluted, sinful, distasteful. That's an assumption that anger is not right. That being hardened with feeling and disdain is only the gaping hole of where warmth was. I'd disagree if you asked my opinion. Sometimes I think anger is just anger. It comes and goes as often as love and limerence. It floats between road rage, self hatred, and disdain for others. Maybe I'm angry at myself. Maybe I'm angry at God. Maybe I'm angry at God for making me angry at God. Maybe I'm angry at myself for still capitalizing God when my thoughts are so heretical. When anger rots into the floorboards and slowly eats away at the foundation is when it becomes deadly. harmful and not in a good way. When anger consumes you to where you forget where it started and where it will end is when it's bad. On the opposite side when you do not allow yourself to feel anger, it can also consume you. Eats at you like termites. It's always ate at me. And I've felt every bite gnawing at my slowly cooling flesh. I think there's something thats worse though. For me at least. When people attempt to disprove your anger it feels like shattering a mirror and getting the glass in your eye. It's a cancer, slowly but steadily growing living off of your body. Becoming you while also consuming you. it's even more frustrating when those people who disprove are the ones you love the most. then again what is love? they say that what happened was for my protection. I wonder if thats what people tell birds in cages. and for the longest time this anger has remained dormant. and I do not know what to do with it.

[iamtotallysaneipromise]

how can people watch mukbangs I can't stand the mouth sounds they make me want to rip my eyeballs out and my eardrums

[iamtotallysaneipromise]

I want someone so bad I can't stand it.

Well I can. I can always weather it. I want someone to know my middle name. To know the scar below my left shoulder blade. To know my favorite Frank Ocean song is Futura Free. I want someone to know. I want someone to know my matcha order. I want someone to know how much I hate my dad. I want someone to know how guilty I feel for hating my dad. I want someone to know who I want to be in ten years time. I want someone to hold me. I want someone to touch me. I want someone to cook for me.

But here's the thing. That love is a mirror. I want it to reflect parts of me so that I feel love. I want you to make me feel good. I want you to make me feel worthy of love. I want it. But I don't need it. I don't need it. If I've survived for eighteen years and seven months with this monstrous ache at the base of my spine I can survive eighteen more. Or a lifetime if need be. I don't want limerence. I don't want limerence.

So what then? What happens? I want a lot of things that I can't have. Not yet at least, and maybe not ever. Cause I'd rather walk alone than live something born out of a disingenuous relationship. Maybe that makes me boring or something. I just don't think I could personally live with myself. I mean a big portion of this is hypocritical because I always have this intense desire to be noticed, specifically by the male population (unfortunately). And I never am. One I am FAT. I know I am and I'm gonna lose this weight after I get out of this unhealthy household. But I think there's a bigger reason. One more meaningful than looks. I mean look at Selena and Benny Blanco. Queen didn't marry him for his looks. Yeah I know im mean. What I'm sayin is I think people can smell my soul rotting. Withering. Starving. They can smell me asking myself,

Will you love me? Do you like me? Do you like me? Do you like me? Like me. like me. like me. please please please.

And that may be why. Then again I think most of my generation are robots. But take that with a grain of salt because I barely have any friends. I'm going into college in august, but going into orientation I could see it. A lot of girls look the same, and I don't mean that like oh im so different and special cause I hate myself. I mean. They dress in the same Lululemon and have the same Utah curls blonde baylage moms and the same under armor polo wearing dads. Not saying it's bad, must be nice to have good parents. They look the same. They join the same sororities. Have the same smiles. Have the same boyfriends named Connor or Jake who also are involved in the same frats. I know that's not everyone. I love my roommate I got assigned to. She's so weird I love it. Maybe this is a mean post but its not like anyones gonna see it. I just feel like who I am is repulsive to that kinda people.

But I have a 50/50 feeling if I lose that weight those same people wouldn't ignore me anymore. Cause thats who they are. It is I can smell that. And I dunno maybe im a judgmental freak. Ive gotten that more times than not. But I'd rather have opinions than not at all.

I will say, I am working on not being so quick to judge people based on their appearances. It is hurting how I feel about myself. Anyway.

[iamtotallysaneipromise]

ive always had a gnawing feeling about love. felt cold, like the bottom of a prison cell. felt like how the concrete would scrape across my skin. maybe I'd like it. maybe id have calluses forming. I wouldn't be soft. soft never got me anywhere except where im at right now. which, of course, feels like purgatory. when anyone tells me they love me, it happens. and I don't know whether to give into this repulsed feeling or tell myself that this is wrong and I should accept it. I mean it's not like anyone in my fam beats me it's just been eighteen years of miscommunication, disease, guilt and anger. hahaha. I don't know what to fuckin do. I know one thing though,

I fetishize my own sadness.

[iamtotallysaneipromise]

I've only ever felt relieved about my accomplishments. I got a full ride to a nationally known public university plus summer shit. I only felt relieved. That scholarship had a 3 percent acceptance rate and I only ever felt relieved. Sure yeah maybe I'm bitching about something I shouldn't. But I have only. ever. felt. relieved. I don't wanna talk about. I don't wanna tell anyone jack shit. It just makes me so angry and I can't even describe why. This program has leadership values in it, traveling and helping the community. I know that's important. I think that shit is important to me, but I don't feel relieved about it. Not about that. I feel worried. Yeah not even gonna put a fuckin tag on this shit.

[iamtotallysaneipromise]

Dog and Opossum

Dog and Opossum

The silence of the night lay over Dog like the warm blanket he was never given as a pup. Gaping holes in his chest lay exposed to the sky in humble praise as the wind festered inside the wounds. His breath had slowed into a steady hum, as if it were the heartbeat of the earth, and his bones jutted out of his fur as if he had grown a pair of wings. Dog looked up to the night sky and had finally seen the earth for what it truly was for the very first time.

"It was surely a sight," thought Opossum. "It was almost holy, a sacred sort of thing that only nature could seem to praise."

"Too pure to eat," he told Buzzard, and Crow, and the bugs. None of the forest creatures had seen something so painfully raw and couldn’t bring themselves to pollute the sight of such gruesome vulnerability. Dog opened his crimson-crusted eyes, focused on Opossum. He thought it was bizarre for any creature, let alone Opossum, to pay his death any attention.

"What?!" he groaned, teeth bared in an attempt to maintain his last sense of dignity as a predator. Opossum swore you could almost see the universe by looking inside Dog's gashes; the wounds were bottomless pits that contained the innards of life itself. The marsupial could hear the secrets of the cosmos flow out of Dog’s torn flesh, even if the meaning of it all was above him.

Opossum lay down beside Dog and looked at the stars. He felt the reverberations from the cars on the highway move up his spine, and it sent a coldness down his back. Dog winced in pain. "Why lay here?" he asked, more softly than he had spoken in years.

Opossum sighed, his eyes glazing over Dog as if verifying his very existence. "Why not, Dog?"

Dog willed himself to raise his neck what little he could to catch a glimpse of the bones that stuck out of his chest. "Dear God…" spilled from his lips in resignation as his head fell limp to the asphalt again.

"You shouldn’t have looked," warned Opossum.

"What’s a good death if you can’t acknowledge it?" Dog retorted.

Opossum thought the ivory protruding out of Dog’s chest looked like a flower trying to grow without sun. He dryly laughed, "You look like God just tried to pry your heart out with his teeth."

Dog took a second and huffed a weighted breath, "I think he just did."

Opossum looked at Dog the way prey worships its predator, the simple kind of love that surpassed all understanding of everything except the forest itself. It was an ancient empathy that outlived everything, that would survive past Dog and Opossum’s time and would only be whispered among the trees.

"You would've killed me if you hadn't got hit," Opossum stated.

Bones cracked softly, like a dead tree branch falling, as Dog turned his neck to look at him. "Maybe so, but you weren’t meant to die. I was."

Opossum let Dog’s words fill the silence around them and finally spoke again, "Maybe true, but what’s a damn Opossum to anyone? You talk of this death as if you anticipated it."

Dog sighed almost out of annoyance, "Surprised your mother didn’t swallow you as a joey to save herself the trouble with all of your damned words." His legs spasmed as the wind burned against his exposed bones; it was a hot, icy feeling, almost too contradictory to be true.

Opossum replied, "Ah, well, you’re not too far off. But this is not about me, dear friend. I saw you walk onto the highway as if it was home."

Dog hummed in response. Opossum was right, as usual. He looked Dog in the eye and said, "You know, you’re far more holy right now than you have ever been, more than anyone has ever been."

Dog rolled his eyes. "You sound like a religious ass."

Opossum grinned youthfully, "Don’t tell me you don’t pray before you lay your head down to sleep."

Dog let out a lofty exhale, "I’m a sweet, nominal liar at my purest."

Opossum’s amusement echoed, "I know what goes on in that bloody brain of yours…" he whispered, "What does a stray owe to a God?"

Dog wheezed out a chuckle, "You’ve got me figured out, dear friend."

Opossum heaved out a dry scoff as he watched the blood clot around Dog’s wounds. "But Dog, what kindness are we afforded in this cold world but God’s?"

Dog raised up weakly, "Is this God’s loving work, friend? If so, I do not want it."

Opossum ran his eyes over Dog’s broken flesh, "I do not know."

Dog laughed, "And that, dear Opossum, is where my cynicism is just plain ole truth and reality. Everyone just likes to feel safe believin’ in shit. When we’re all just food for Buzzard at the end of the damn day."

Opossum let Dog’s words dangle in the air as he sat up and looked around him. He noted the way Deer bowed to Dog in humble recognition, and he thought it quite unusual. She knew too, if Dog were well, he’d have sunk his teeth into her flesh the first chance he could, because violence and hunger were all he had ever known. He observed the way the stars dulled as the life in Dog’s eyes slowly left him. He looked at the way Buzzard and Crow shied away from the sight of Dog’s broken body.

"Tell me this, dear Opossum, are the humans our God, or does their God reign supreme over all life?" Dog asked quietly, voice straining.

Opossum toiled over Dog’s question. "Humans have many gods they worship."

Bug sat and listened to the two animals as if they were saintly preachers. Dog grinned as blood dripped down the side of his broken jaw. "Indeed they do. So then who do we pray to? Their telephones? Their cars? Perhaps their celebrities? The digital chaos they drown in every night? The God inside their churches?"

Opossum held his tongue between his teeth as he mulled over his friend’s questions. "I am not sure. Perhaps I will believe in the God inside their churches."

Dog coughed up a bit of blood and wiped it from his lips. "You are quite foolish. But humor me, whyever would you do that?"

Opossum stood and gazed at Dog with a humble respect. "It is quite boring to have no direction, nor compass. I like to think something is watching over me."

The forest held its breath as it awaited Dog’s response. "So you believe in the God who has ripped me open with his very hands? The great divine who has crushed my heart with his teeth? The God who has let my flesh and bone knit into the grooves of the asphalt?"

Opossum looked up vacantly at the sky in an attempt to count the stars but decided it was far too many. "If this wouldn’t have happened to you, then you would’ve been the one who tore me to shreds without remorse."

Dog let out a breathless wheeze and laughed, "Ah well… the odds are ever in the rodent’s favor, I suppose."

The stray’s laugh echoed across the night, ivory bones jutted out of his stomach, rising and falling with his hearty chuckle. Opossum rolled his eyes. "I’m not a rodent. I’m a damn marsupial."

Dog bared his teeth in a bloody smile, "Whatever the hell you are, you still eat shit."

Opossum circled Dog, "I may eat shit, but I’m not the one with his ribs splayed open like a fish filet."

Nature dulled upon Opossum's statement, but Dog cackled with the most life he’d ever had, "I suppose that God you pray to is real then, hm? Slaying me to save you."

"And that is exactly why I pray, dearest friend," Opossum muttered.

[iamtotallysaneipromise]

what would opossum taste like (Roadkill)

Scavenge and scrounge all you like little one, but sweet death will carry you away soon. 

Dirt and dust, the mud matted fur you wear is a story of the places you’ve been.

Bear your little sharp yellow teeth and snarl at the face of life.

But you don’t know that life is even bigger than the humans. 

Belly full of nothing, you walk around in the dark yet it will not keep you long. 

You may be able to see in it, but it can see in you too. 

No matter where you go, or what you do, it’s eyes will always be watching you. 

Search all you like, but you only have one destination tonight. 

Fresh prey, on the road, just for you.

Belly quakes in longing anticipation, so long it’s fought off starvation.

You thank God for this blessed feast, a grace bestowed upon you.

The earth shivers in fear as the monster roars near. 

The yellow eyes of the dark go right through you, little one. 

It’s over, it’s done. A forever sleep is coming upon you.

You will return to the dark, just as you came out of it before.

Bones, blessed bones, the bones of your mother and father stick up praising the God of the night.

Stars and midnight dust will be the last thing your meager eyes will see. 

Flesh will be knotted into the road with each pair of eyes of the passerby, and earth you will become once more.

You will satiate the living, and they will thank God too.

Only then, they will meet the same fate as you. 

Death will greet you by the door, abundance overflowing.

Time is short, death is long, all this suffering, surely it was for something. 

[iamtotallysaneipromise]

female English teachers are the devil

yeah my fault I have mommy issues and the first woman who actively APPEARED APPEARED to take interested in me actually had a big fat mouth that loved playing mother Theresa. I told that BITCH everything through the fucking essays cause she's one of those im an empath you're safe here. BULLSHIT. yeah. yeah. and then blab to the other teachers that my dad has cancer aww poor Isa. jokes on you I don't like my dad.

actually the devil

[iamtotallysaneipromise]

In a universe

In another universe, 

My mother became everything she wanted. 

She sat alone at her house on the hillside early in the morning, 

She looked out at her pond and the way the fog danced on the waters.

She stroked the fur of the little dog in her lap and smiled to herself.

In another universe,

My father became everything he wanted.

He got lost in a big city until he found where he belonged

He drove home then went on a run around his neighborhood. 

Drenched in sweat from his exertions, he smiled to himself. 

In another universe,

My mother was a world class nurse. 

She held hands as mothers pushed life into the world. 

She held hands as life drained from eyes.

Covered in exhaustion from her labor of love, she smiled to herself. 

In another universe,

My dad became a collegiate professor. 

Wisdom poured from his lips into the hearts of the new generation. 

He could see the path of every student’s life that entered his classroom. 

At the end of every day he thanked God for his life, and he smiled to himself. 

In this universe,

My mother got nothing she really wanted,

She sits in her room while her husband and kids pound at the door hungry for affection.

She looks out at nothing, because a two bedroom apartment is hard to breathe in. 

Her empty gaze settles on the ceiling, she sighs collecting herself in order to fulfill her duties. 

But in the back of her mind she wondered if her decisions were in vain. 

In this universe,

My father got nothing he really wanted. 

A handicap placard and a disability check was all the world could ever offer him. 

He could never quite grasp that he was trying to catch up to a life he could never lead. 

Always stuck in the “if,” the disease ran far deeper than his eyes, but into his bones. 

He then concluded that every dream he had was in vain. 

In this universe, 

My mother got nothing she really wanted.

Weary knees gave out as she desperately willed them to stay strong. 

She was stuck in a body that took up too much space but was still never enough. 

She tried to recall a time where she was strong enough to walk, but she could not remember. 

As she sat with nothingness, she concluded that her existence was in vain. 

In this universe,

My father got nothing he really wanted.

He ruled his house with an iron rod, drunk on the control he could never have in the real world. 

Always expecting soft obedience in return, not knowing his daughter can smell desperation. 

He was stuck in a world in his mind, as truth was something he could never really see.

Yet, every effort was in vain. 

In a universe,

My parents will brush their teeth after eating a good meal.

They kneel and say the prayers they’ve known since they were little. 

They settle into bed content, and exhausted from their day.

And they smile to themselves. 

[iamtotallysaneipromise]

a really bad poem

Dog in a cage

In love with the war I wage. 

I’m the clown on the stage

Do I make you happy? 

Do I make you smile? 

Do I make you enjoy yourself?

Love me. Love me. Love me. Love. Me. Love. Me. Me. Me. Me.

Do the stars count how many pounds they weigh?

Do they slice themselves into slivers?

Do they eat universes?

When they purge their gluttony are worlds born?

The universe is angry.

She’s a skinny dog in a cage thirsting and starving. 

Through the wire there’s a cool, fresh, bowl of water. 

Through the wire there’s a ribeye with her name on it. 

But the cage is locked.

Locked. Locked. Locked.