I like to pretend my pencil is a wand and if i wave it with a few precise flicks my whole class will disappear that way i can be all alone and i can dance on top of the desks. I like to think of all the things i would do if i had all that spare time to myself. I think i would strip down to my socks and dance through the streets in my own little twisted musical where my name is Frank and i have a day job working at a gas station in the 1960’s. I want a pet kola named Helga that wears dresses and hands me all the dr. pepper i can drink. I want to live off a very nutritious diet consisting of donuts and fuck you’s to everyone who tries to stop me. On my name tag will just me a middle finger instead of anything productive. I want people to know where they stand before i have to put them in their place. I have great goals as you can tell. They say you have to do what you hate to figure out what you love and i hate school.
I’ve started drinking coffee and I’ve stopped measuring out 1 scoop of grounds per cup and now I just pour until it looks like its enough to keep me half way conscious. I don’t know why I started drinking it but I do know I like it a certain way. A couple days ago my teacher had 2 cups of black coffee, one in each hand, and he was just drinking one after another. I like mine with a little more milk than sugar but it has to be sweet with just a hint of bitter. It has be be that perfect shade of tan and it must be in my favourite Hawaii mug.
I don’t talk much and I never saw it as a problem until recently. Everyone I meet says the same thing, I’m extremely nice but I rarely talk. What am I suppose to say? Am I suppose to enlighten you on the workings of my mind? I don’t like sharing. Thats why I created a website. I find it hard to talk to people about certain things so instead i write them out. This way I could anonymously share what I am too sacred to say.
I also have Vocal Chord Dysfunction. I have trouble breathing and talking and I can get a very bad cough because of it. My chest feels tight and oddly hurts. I also get sore throats. I have exercises I’m supposed to do to relieve the symptoms but lately i haven’t and now I’m having troubles talking. When just breathing causes such intense pain how am I suppose to start sharing my life story for others enjoyment?
My boyfriend’s mother was asking about my dad and after just telling her one thing she informed me that I apparently won the “Has The Worst Father Contest”. Lovely. I don’t like talking about him but that’s what everyone wants to know about. Or they want to know how i ended up being a atheist when I was raised christian. What happened to me? Why do I hate God? Frankly, I don’t and nothing happened to me. At this point in my life I just want to open myself up to other perspectives and belief systems. I want to know everything and I adore conversations about God and spirituality. Talk to me about it.
Why I left the church is simple. I was starting therapy and needed to figure myself out. My thoughts, beliefs, desires, and purpose. That was a big one for me, what is my purpose? I still don’t know but I took everything out of my life and slowly started putting certain things back in if that felt right.
I gave myself freedom. I gave myself the right to not answer every question because they don’t all need a answer.
“And now they want me to sing from my blood filled lungs because I’m young and you only live once”
I started writing on Sunday as a excuse to not go to church
I cant go, I have too much do do
Or maybe it was because I wanted the words to save me. I was trying to find a saviour within myself
I have a plain skeleton,
There is nothing particular about it that makes it special or odd when compared to that of another person. It creaks with every brittle movement, threatens to break away into ashy remains and just overall works like that of everybody else. There’s no marks that tell some great story or that show just traumatizing grief can be. There’s nothing to show where I’ve been or where I’ll be. There is nothing here but a plain but disturbed existence.
Last summer a fair came to town. But it wasn’t your ordinary fair, this one was different. It brought a odd atmosphere with it, I’m sure it choked a few brain cells on its way in. My friends said I was just being paranoid and they told me that all I needed was to enjoy the festivities. I remember I went into this one tent in particular and they had those funny mirrors in them. It was fun at first and everyone around me looked like they were enjoying themselves but the longer I stayed in there the more I got this weird feeling.
My reflection started to change the longer I looked into the mirror. I thought it was just an illusional first. I tried to leave and get some air foolishly thinking it would clear my head. But everywhere I looked there it was, or more there I was I suppose. Everywhere I went there was always this distorted version following me around becoming more vivid with each movement. Every insecurity and thing I didn’t like about myself was now alive. I wonder if humans ever experience this when they look in a mirror too?
Dear Space Boy,
I have a space brother. His hair looks like fire and he calls it his wrath. Mother says he tries to drink the galaxies away. Maybe if I catch the moon he’ll finally stay for a little while. She says if he offers you a drink don’t take any but if I do maybe one day I can be space too.