i’m tired of wasting moments talking about the tragedy of wasting moments.

Monday, November 12, 2007

it’s small today. this is definitely a brain vomit. i thought it; i wrote it.
you won’t understand half of it. it’s intentional–because you can’t.
but i write it in hopes that you will, because isn’t that the point?

break ups are silly, until it’s your own turn.
it’s hard to love someone, but simultaneously know that it is the end.
there comes a point when tomorrow is yesterday,
and the cynical sarcasm isn’t enough to keep things together.
the outwardly-projected illusion of “us” isn’t worth the reality of every internal brick i’ve laid in my walls.
i feel sour.
i feel like that ugly black banana everyone scoffs at in the grocery store,
but i’m ok with that.
at least that pitiful little banana peacefully sits there NOT remembering how it got to be so smooshed up.
you can wipe the slobber off of your chin at the fact that i’m airing my dirty little
laundry out for all to read, but who would keep me from it? who wouldn’t listen?
you see, i am not mad at him. i mad at me. i cannot control him, but i can control me.
and i am exhausted from the concept of regret. who even knows what it is?
to wish you hadn’t done something is to wish you weren’t
who you are today–how can one be so terribly ungrateful?
i find myself disappointed in my weak moments, but without them,
how could i really know the Lord? it is in my strongest times that i let God ride shotgun.
i would even say i look forward to these holes in life, because i always find
myself seeing something instead of just seeing.
seeing instead of seeing,
yes i said it, and, no, i’m not insane–because there is a difference.
bananas in the grocery store. yeah, turn me yellow to black.
i’ll buy these hide and seek dresses. do you think it can fix the inside, though?
or is that what you were aiming to do, dear father?
oh wait, or did you do it, because i could have sworn you said it was my fault.
oh you did? oh, i’m troubled, eh, granny? speak up, i can’t hear through the
stutters fumbling out of your mouth from onset of your crazy pills.
don’t touch me, don’t try me. i won’t respect you, because i’ve been a player
on this gameboard for an aching lifetime, and who has the compass pointing to right?
one right in a deck of wrong? it surely seems not. when will i ever know?
i know. i’m hilarious. invite me over to tell you some jokes.
you’ll get a good work out. (obviously, i’m cocky, too.)
but do you know why i am the way i am? i haven’t always been
crazy, lets jam out in the car, say what i want to, insanely outgoing
Erin.
Nope, not always.
See, I spent a lot of time growing up feeling sorry for myself.
feeling sorry for myself because i was the fat 200lb. middle schooler.
having pity parties because i was a nerd, a naive little nothing,
for all the “injustice” in my life, for all the things everyone “did to me.”
well, who gives a flying crap? i got tired of being that person.
no one is capable of doing anything to me that i don’t let them.
how sinfully stupid to sit around and feel bad for nothing.
it’s an exhausting way to live.
and when i finally let go of all of it, knock, knock:
surprise, its me! this is who was there.
i laugh at myself, and many things around me–i’m easily cynical, because i’ve seen a lot.
i find joy in the most awkward situations. i get pretty deep about things, and i need to lighten up alot.
i find compassion in the hardest places, but i am also plagued with selfishness enough to miss the opportunity.
i find endurance in the scariest times, but many times, i break down in the dumbest places,
which even gives me a headache trying to figure out why.
i try to stay so on the surface of life sometimes, living in the trivialities of routine and habit.
i like that side of me, but there is another really scary, broken and deep side of me that i like to bury many days.
and you, of all people, brought this on. No, not you, You. and you know, but not you.
or maybe it was several instances, who knows.
You don’t, but thank you. But then again, no.
You are a subjectless subject subjecting yourself.
I would give you many titles, but how could i when i can’t write a line.
I see all of you, but i haven’t seen your face.
But isn’t that the most powerful thing?
i’m so full of riddles, but do they have joyful answers? i’m looking for them

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