tentwelvefourteen
All I can think about right now is earthquakes. I thought about this earlier today. I talked about this with Bea. Didn't I? Christ, I can't remember anything.
Yes, I talked about earthquakes. I remember that. I talked about the end of the world, and how I can't stop thinking about it.
Here is what I think about: earthquakes. Tsunamis (which are earthquakes, underwater). Aliens (the unfriendly type). Disappearing. I think about that more and more. I lean against the wall and envelop myself in the blue and then I'm gone. Or I disappear in a crack in the earth and the world smiles.
i am not afraid at age five -
my mother gives me two quarters
they fall like tears into the collection jug
we sing at the concert for the dead, and i
know nothing of the disaster
plastic bags for boots
i know nothing of the racial disparities,
of the failing relief programs,
of george w. bush's face on the news
every night -
of anything but
my heart in my ears.
My fingers caught a bit of crumbling rock as I scrambled on the mossy face of the cliff. Squinting against the sun, I glanced up at the rest of the climbers. I was ten feet or so behind the slowest climber. If we wanted to get to the campsite before nightfall, I'd need to stop being so cautious.
Jesus Christ. He said that they were just his beliefs. He said that I couldn't condemn him for believing in God, but Jesus, he literally thought that I should be stoned to death. He literally thought that I was going to burn in hell for that one time I kissed a girl. He thought that I didn't deserve to live, that I was some mistake.
It's great to be queer until you meet someone who hates your existence.
he said that he was just resting the time he lay down so i've been resting too for the past few hours even though it's getting cold even though he always said that when it gets dark i have to run. i have to run.
but he said that he was resting and he hates it when i wake him up and he isn't having the nightmares like he usually does so i can't wake him up.
he isn't moving at all so he's resting well, and his body is getting cold, but he's just resting and he'll be up before sunrise tomorrow so i'll just wait with him until he wakes up.
The thing is, they said that they would grant us the franchise to be like regular human beings, but the other thing is that the story doesn't just stop there. The thing is that when they said we could vote, they acted like this was this giant act of freedom, but it was just a basic human right. And what about all the women who weren't white? The thing is, black women couldn't vote until decades after all the marches and protests and posters. And the thing is, they keep acting like we're ungrateful for wanting more than the right to vote, and we have to act like we're satisfied, but the thing is, we're not.
it's on the edge of town if you look closely enough. we like to go there at night and stare at the water trickling through the pipe into the river, which might go to the other town, which might end up in the ocean, which might someday be turned into rain and fall into puddles and drip back through the outlet.
i feel like pieces of me are falling off one by one and all i can do it watch the water.
it feels like i'm not real anymore and the thing is i do not i do not know what to do any longer
my heart is a feather crushed by a rough hand
my brain floats out of my head and won't return until it wants to
i do not think that i am connected to my body but i cannot tell anybody that
sometimes i just stare and stare and stare for hours and well i don't know what to do but then who does?
this is the thing:
i love her, i really do. we tell each other that all the time - voices gasping, desperate, almost greedy as we clutch at each other. i've told her that i want her to be near me all the time, and it's not a lie - it's not, because i do, i swear it, i do love her and need her and desire her company all the time- but god, i need her to stop hovering like some desperate bug. i don't want her to go away. i need her.
this is the thing:
i am terrified of my own feelings and i don't want to hurt her but oh god, she's going to hurt.
I feel like my brain is being stretched into a million pieces all the time, like sweet rose bubblegum, wet with saliva, caught on braces, pulled by fidgeting fingers. I don't know how to think on my own any longer. I don't know what I'm supposed to do with my life, but that's okay--my brain does not have a mind of its own any longer.
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