Ty says that I hit Pat too hard,
says it like it was venomous,
that hit
that got me
in the two-minute box.

I went for the kill and snap.
Ruthlessly instinctual,
Ty reads from a newspaper.
I say it came from the gut.
Heartless, Ty says,
he can’t believe I’d do it
and then walk around aloof like
I own the room and I own the kill.

But it was all heart, I insist,
you know, that way when your heart has been ripped in two
twisted like a little bitch
out to wring in the sun
been slapped around,
maybe add in a punch in the gut.
And all you ever did to retaliate
was smile pretty
and throw your whole body into a wink
to one of the few people who were in on the joke.
The one person who watched on the sidelines
sided with the killer
sided with the guilty.
The just-as-guilty.
All you did was show him
that the condoned are complicit,
that the beaten bled out some time ago,
and everything is good now,
because the blood transfusion erased all the bad,
cleansed out the impure
that faded with time.

No bad blood.
No blood at all.
Let’s not bring it up,
focus on the present Ty sweetie,
let’s move on.

I cackle because I have nothing to lose
even if Ty thinks it’s heartless,
even if everyone thinks that cruelty snakes through my hair,
like I am a monster instead of something much simpler.
A bitch.

Pat knows why I did it.
Pat knows why this bad blood is all about being a good sport.
Pat knows everything.

Pat knows everything that happened to me
and Pat never fucking did anything about it.
Pat hasn’t said anything to me but good game,
never in private,
always so someone else can hear.

Pat is so good at this game.
And a good game it has become
because I’m finally learning the rules
and know that the secret to winning
isn’t winning over hearts
I’ve already lost

The trick to winning is to play along
to play the long game
so what’s a spear, what’s a hit,
what’s a broken rib
if it’s all for fun.

Spilling blood is a small price to pay
when you won’t spill the guts.


true ten minute thought: go.

there’s a lot happening in my life and i’ve found that i cannot relax.  like i cannot stop. i’m not unstoppable, i just… cannot pause, i cannot take a breath when i need one, i cannot go to sleep and stare at the ceiling and let myself drift to bed because when i do go to bed, i fall asleep immediately from exhaustion.

i have been piecing together a lot of my life, a lot of the state of things, trying to take some type of rash inventory of all the things that i need to do and all the things that i want to do, but i haven’t focused enough on it.  i am exhausted physically, but i deny that this is the case by convincing myself that i am not exhausted mentally. at least not exhausted in the moment that i tell myself i’m not exhausted, where i am merely at the brink, but that counts because at what moment will you will plunge to your death -when you bend your legs to jump or when you’re already 50 feet down?

i didn’t win a writing contest i’ve entered and in ways that has upset me, but that should make me work harder, that should make me hone my craft, that should make me learn that this life doesn’t stop for you, but that doesn’t mean you should not prioritize.  i’ve bought so many fucking expensive clothes lately, because i can’t stop in some convoluted sense. it’s not even the high… i’ve stopped getting a high from buying things. it’s just this… image? this imagined view of myself wearing it?  the anticipation of spring when i can wear the skirt i want with the heels i have in my head, and maybe i’ll buy some necklace and ring to go with it? i’m not an inspiring blogger or instagram model… i just… i guess in some ways that was the woman I always wanted to be when i was little… who had it all together, sophisticated but not stuffy… still young. and i’ve got to live in.  in many ways, and maybe this statement will someday haunt me, i’ve been living my life trying to check off the things that i already set for myself when i was little, when i was 11, when i was 13.  in ways, that has been my purpose in my life, becoming Her.  That’s why I take French classes, that’s why I have been so confused, that’s why I buy those clothes, that’s why I buy the things I do, I go to the places I go.  I had the idea of who I wanted to be when I grew up and I’ve spent my life trying to become her, her unchanging although admittedly tweaked for the times.  Her, unfazed, unquestioning, her unattainable and I claw at it, touch the ghost of where it had been and crave for more.  ahhh… i have three minutes left in this ten minute thought but i have so much to say, and i might as well let it flow.

i’m travelling in a few weeks… super far, and i keep thinking about all the places other people have been and maybe it’s some type of paranoia like keeping up with the Jones but i think about all the places that i still haven’t visited… like italy, like southeast asia, like australia, and when do I go? Am I holding myself back? But these visions conflict with my need to save money, and I’ve been horrible at this lately.  My dry cleaning spend is about half of what I spent last year and we’re only a quarter through the year. I’ve considered (once again) rewriting my GRE, which is a substantial investment of time, money, and mental health.  I know a lot of these problems could be solved if I come to terms with the fact that I can’t compare myself with other people, but isn’t that natural?  I’m sure there’s some weird evolutionary explanation for why we look at others and ask ourselves why we’re not doing what they’re doing.  What if I’m not as happy-go-lucky as I used to be? I’m superstitious in the most hilarious, trivial ways.  I’ve been reading a lot, I guess, it almost feels like homework, it feels like a second job.  It’s like I read Crime and Punishment and it left this void in me and now I see it, and I don’t know what to do.  It’s made me sad, I feel isolated but I don’t want to talk to anyone… is this depression again?  I noticed I haven’t taken a day to just do nothing, with nothing in mind for a long time.  I’m thinking about going to the art museum tomorrow.  That will be a relaxation.  Today, I’ve got to do my part-time job, perhaps write a short story, change my phone.  I run errands all the fucking time.  I both loathe and love errands, because it’s a check box waiting to be checked and then you can check it.

I both love and hate finding new events and things to do in the city, because I feel this onus to do it even though I don’t have the time, and I think about all the things that are underutilized, underpromoted, and what now… is this some type of start-up that I need to birth?  I’ve been numb from a lot of things. People, mainly.  People I don’t want to talk to, because I’d rather talk to no one.  I keep thinking back to him, even now even though it has been soooo long, and like always, living this perfect life.  And I found out A might still be dating this guy from what feels like a lifetime ago, and even though it shouldn’t bother me, it does. it’s like A has it perfect, even though I’m sure she doesn’t, but that’s the image that she gives off and that’s what I always think about. that she’s pretty, she’s perfect, and she got the boy, she got everything, she got the career change she wanted and she’s doing amazing. and i have my victories, but i lost the boy. like the boy was some tug of war between the two of us, which wasn’t the case at all.  but resentment is visceral, heartbreak makes no sense, it still makes no sense and its faint pain can still be felt 5 years later.

youth, as always, is fleeting. i think about it a lot. like maybe i should see a psychologist, but then i would need to be diagnosed in order to get treatment, and i think it sounds stupid. like maybe they would laugh at me and so that keeps me from getting help. armchair psychology is a real thing and i don’t want to be stuck in some skit with someone in their dream second profession.  i am shaped by the things that have happened to me.  i see it all the time.  i am shaped by all the things that happened to me when i was thirteen, when i was 11.  i’m still that same person, but older, perhaps more jaded, perhaps panicking that it feels like time is running out.

i’ve been thinking about returning to charleston and making that pilgrimage to the angel oak.  been thinking about where else i should go… back to london? mexico city? milan? amsterdam? finally go to ireland? go to wales? go somewhere where no one knows me, and this desire, ding! goes off in my head because isn’t that what i always suspected? that there is something wrong with me. not a flaw, just an… aberration, an abnormality, something that can’t be fixed. i’m not broken, at least… i’m not broken by my mind. i’m broken by what has happend to me, but i don’t think what happened to me made me the way i am, i think i was just born wanting to be a stranger everywhere.

i’ve thought about… a lot. i am guarded. i have not disclosed everything i want to talk about in case someone happens to pass by this blog and find what i want to do. not evil. i promise. just… negotiating power is diminished if people know exactly what you want. so i’ll leave that there.  i couldn’t concentrate at dance today… and that leads me to think about whether or not i should start doing ballet again?

i’ve gained weight, my clothes tell me and i can see it every time i glance in a mirror. these days… these days feel very trying. i think i just hate juggling 100 things at the same time, but that’s life… it gets that way, right?  hopefully i’ll feel better after i’ve written this post, like taking some long breath out. figure it out as i go, i suppose. i won’t edit this. i can’t. i’ve let it go, haven’t i? exhaled it out, it’s not mine anymore to bend and warp, trying to fix this mangled creature.

two minute thoughts

i haven’t been able to concentrate much, a few things haven’t gone as I’d hoped, and it’s thrown things off kilter

been reflecting a lot on the past couple years and where i am now and where i want to go

haven’t felt like talking to many people, sometimes i feel like i’ve forgotten how to speak.  i think i empathize with Raskolnikov in Crime & Punishment; is that something I shouldn’t even admit?

is this what the next chapter feels like?

what’s next?

what do i ever want to do? how come i have no idea what is in store for me over the next 10 years? even the next 5?

who will i meet in the future? is that future coming up soon?

why do I still think about him sometimes? it’s been so long

how does the state of my potential (in its rise or fall) fit into my yearnings, my frustrations, my goals?

am i still bitter? am i never not bitter?

the next couple months will be strange.

why can’t i be better when i recognize where i’ve fallen short? i’m selfish, self-interested. i am conflicted, embattled. i’ve forgotten words, perhaps from the lack of using them.   i’m going far away very soon but for a very brief time, and i don’t know how i feel about it. i guess i feel anxious, i’m not sure how to process it… i don’t how to make myself feel less guilty about it. i don’t know how to balance this need to relax with this stress of doing everything.