It was just always.

"Oh honey, it was just today."

Only today, only tomorrow, only yesterday. Only always. Forgive me for being cynical but I'm reaching for something that nobody can understand and for a call that no one will hearken to. I breathe slower and pedal faster, going nowhere, finding you. Always finding you. At every corner, in every book; my story is getting anti-climatic and you are ruining the plot. Mouthing the words but never speaking them; glancing but never looking at me. Touching your finger to my lips but never daring to linger longer, assuming independence. 

"Oh honey, it was just today."

Just today when he glared and thought I was preoccupied. Just today when I was the dramatic one and it meant less than pennies to anyone else. Just always. Just always. Your narcoleptic limbs amaze me; one moment rushing towards me with the force of every gale that ever gushed through the canyon, and the next indifferent and unaware of my brain studying you and willing you to remember. Your words softly land on my shoulder but are never directed to the source, never attain their full interpretation. Narrow your eyes and focus on who I am for one moment. Remember my name, remember my face, but recognize my deformed figure in a crowd. 

"Oh honey, it was just today."

When I'm transformed into an imaginary voice and an imaginary opinion and he likes it. When I somehow know and he somehow knows too. My fears are worth more than my desires and I despise it. I am contemptuous and unforgiving, and I cannot draw the veil from my eyes. Read me and remember, draw nearer and discover a girl who is different but the same.

I have an explosive temper

My temper is explosive, and my heart
wrenches when you call my name, but
I scream at the bird who chirps at midnight
and the Swedish Fish who disappoint with
their unsoftness and overchewiness.

My temper is explosive, and my ears
ring with the tinge of regret and the
faint outline of fear in the border of
Mexico.

Don't call me in the wrong way and
Don't prod my ribs with the toe of
your steel tipped words. The
negatives of my film are appearing and I
don't believe in what I used to. When I remember
the words I shouted at the mirror and
the reflection I smashed with an attitude
of recalcitrance and stubborn imitation, it
haunts me around every corner and within the concavity of
every spoon I eat with.

When will my endless rhapsody sound its
last note? I force it upon those who
destroy the lined paper that hold my secrets.

My temper is explosive, and my mind
tells me I'm the dictator, the ruler, the queen.
But my only subject disobeys my commands
and the nation of my emotions is
constantly in revolt.

The loyalists are few and the revolutionaries
will soon overtake.

Beware the revolution; beware the free,
they only speak their mind, without a thought
to future consequences.
Mexico.

Feelin' the blogging love

Disclaimer: This blog post contains nothing of any worth, and may be a large waste of your time.  If you hope for the superpower to read minds, then this is your lucky chance to read mine, but if not, don't say I didn't tell you so.

You know, nobody blogs anymore so that's awesome.
But most of the time I like things better when I'm the only one doing it...
like being in love with Robin Hood
or reading Science Fiction.
But secretly I still love Jane Austin and Charlotte Bronte.
Truthfully, I'm not one who just types on the internet like I'm talking to a friend.
But mostly today I just need a friend.
Unfortunately today, these keys have fallen victim to my thoughtful fingers
because my typewriter has lost its spring for the day.
AKA my power socket in my room blew out.
Is it time to change?
I keep changing but I'm the same person.
Really though.
Changing is who I am.
Change is my personality.
But don't go around selling polaroid film for less than $50
because I'm all out of cash and I wish I could carelessly squander my money
like some sort of pop-hipster-billionaire who wishes she was somebody she isn't.
You can just forget about that last post.
That was a bunch of....crap and I think I ate too many Lindt truffles.
(Let me just say, the peanut butter are divine. Right up there next to dark chocolate)
It is untrue that I hate boys
and it is untrue that I hate my flip phone.
Two very comparable subjects, but I
Won't get into that.
I have these dimples on my cheeks that really make me look like I have
cellulite on my face, because they are in every odd nook and cranny, and the one on my little cheek that most people say is cute, isn't deep enough to be cute, so it just looks like a chubby cheek, and the ones near my lips look like somebody stabbed me with a pen, and the ones under my eyes are just very odd.
It's really a challenge to smile at everyone, when every time you smile,
you look like a walking blob of cellulite.
This is getting a little long, but I might as well tell you that I'm into skulls and gold.
Gold may positively correlate with skulls, but don't confuse correlation with causation.
Sometimes I wonder what it would take to pop this bubble.
But really, are cello players more flexible than the other string players?
And I like hawaiian tourist shirts in the winter.

Hopeless

You still make my stomach flip.
Flip?
Dance.
Twist and contort into shapes of love and...
love.
Love?
Nothing more than lost and unforeseen.
Nothing more than hints of jealousy and permanent damage.
Sigh the last sigh and restrain yourself, dear stomach,
for the knots will not soon untie
and they will more likely be rent in twain.

Have you gotten the hint yet?