It's like swimming against the ocean.
After awhile the water seems it just seeps deep inside of you, past the tissue and the hurt and you're just flooded.
Fucking taking on water.
All of the air that's been beguiled between the rigged roof of my mouth and the thickness of my tongue fights against the pressure of it all.
AND THATS ALL FOR NOW 'CUS I'M TIRED.
Monday, June 21, 2010
Monday, June 7, 2010
Mymel
Bit Bit Bit
Walking through a grocery store makes me anxious. I'm afraid to make eye contact with any of the passersby. I mean, should I smile? Should I nod a bit? What if someone asks me a question, what if they don't look back, what if they know just by looking directly into my eyes? The thought alone makes my breathing all uneven and it feels like I'm sipping through a straw for air, so I keep my eyes glued to the floor.
Plums boil down to pulp, cranberries dry on thick rolls of parchment and yellow squash bursts into flames. Numbers fly through my scalp and all I can think of are bank statements, diapers, formula, and the bite of whiskey that I miss so fucking much.
It's an off day and I don't have as much concern for her as usual, and it makes me sick to my stomach with guilt. Also I'm just plain sick to my stomach. I hold her from the outside of my shirt, hoping she can't hear my thoughts. We walk slowly, trying to make a decision that we haven't quite figured out the two sides of yet.
I look at the cellophane bags of bread and I feel my stomach filling up, the grumbling lining absolutely stuffed full of toy trucks and glitter crayons and Barbie dolls with their hair all chopped off. Her little plastic feet carve their way into my esophagus and I'm sure I could probably go for weeks without eating.
Walking through a grocery store makes me anxious. I'm afraid to make eye contact with any of the passersby. I mean, should I smile? Should I nod a bit? What if someone asks me a question, what if they don't look back, what if they know just by looking directly into my eyes? The thought alone makes my breathing all uneven and it feels like I'm sipping through a straw for air, so I keep my eyes glued to the floor.
Plums boil down to pulp, cranberries dry on thick rolls of parchment and yellow squash bursts into flames. Numbers fly through my scalp and all I can think of are bank statements, diapers, formula, and the bite of whiskey that I miss so fucking much.
It's an off day and I don't have as much concern for her as usual, and it makes me sick to my stomach with guilt. Also I'm just plain sick to my stomach. I hold her from the outside of my shirt, hoping she can't hear my thoughts. We walk slowly, trying to make a decision that we haven't quite figured out the two sides of yet.
I look at the cellophane bags of bread and I feel my stomach filling up, the grumbling lining absolutely stuffed full of toy trucks and glitter crayons and Barbie dolls with their hair all chopped off. Her little plastic feet carve their way into my esophagus and I'm sure I could probably go for weeks without eating.
I'm so sorry, Blogger.
Non-Fiction Bit #...?
I've failed you miserably. I lost control of myself again and here I am. This swirling, murky mess of something I could call home by now. I don't have any strength to fight it off, and I don't know how to even begin to lift my hand to my eye to keep the light from blinding me. All I fucking want is to be able to want something. Really, really feel all of something and want all of something. To control my hands and the space between my thighs that the light shines through and at the same time I don't even fucking care. Let them come.
I've failed you miserably. I lost control of myself again and here I am. This swirling, murky mess of something I could call home by now. I don't have any strength to fight it off, and I don't know how to even begin to lift my hand to my eye to keep the light from blinding me. All I fucking want is to be able to want something. Really, really feel all of something and want all of something. To control my hands and the space between my thighs that the light shines through and at the same time I don't even fucking care. Let them come.
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