Cuttlefish Love

I've come to the conclusion that it is not you that I will miss, but being touched. With how uncomfortable I am with being held, hugged, kissed, fondled or even bumped into, I will miss it from then on from just you and some others. A whore I might become in this conclusion but a whore in need of caress over sex. Never will I need sex more than a session of cuddling. Never.

Slippers

Flip flop. Flip flop. It was nice to feel more important. I feel cheated, ironically. Back and forth, another tug of war with opposite thinkers. Tight clothes brings men, they say, but why would I want to suffocate myself only to be suffocated more? I want a comfortable man to myself. A fresh but warm silk love. It's gone now, bringing it all back down to the wet sand. All I can think is imagery. A cloud of sediment rises up in the water as I drown and then begins to settle, just like in snow globes. I was a ship, I was a woman, but I've been brought back down to unfound treasure. 

It's lonesome at the bottom of the sea.

Another Day

I'm a month closer to turning 18 as the fights break out. Arguments here, disagreements there. I want to have friends, to live a life where I can laugh and be comfortable but my mom's mind prevents that. Her distrust and closed-minded way of thinking interfere and all I can hope for is a box of solitude. My room is not longer a place to hide, or sit comfortably at a computer bored for the rest of my life. I know she wants me safe, but that isn't all she wants. I leave no trace of having friends but the echos that ring through the empty house I live in. Empty, unlike other homes. Erika's home is empty too, vacant in the rooms and the walls show no family past, is her life like mine?

Everyday I used to walk into my home and clean what I can before retreating into my room for alone time. Time spent always with an aging face and a sickening screen where my friends weren't real or tangible. I try to break free but she reels me back in a clawed grip. She says move out, she screams and yells, is unreasonable, throws tantrums but then throws on not a mask but an entire cloak whenever someone is over. She has no dignity, to sense of manners, and it ruins me. She learns from that stupid spick. That piece of shit she married over marrying the wonderful person who I came to call dad for so long, but so suddenly left my life.

I search for my home and at the same time I suppose my heart, since home is where the heart is. Where is it when your comfort levels have dropped to your skin feeling like a grating sand paper coat? Where is it when your eyes twitch with a sting and your throat vomits things that don't fit? Where is it when insides feel like dust and the rest of you seems more like plastic? Where is it when your own family doesn't act like a family, but a group of uncivilized maroons.

Homeless; Dadless

It's a question. Whenever I ask myself whats wrong I answer it but today my answer was "I want to go home". I was standing in my kitchen asking myself that question, asking myself what was wrong and why I was feeling the way I was. Then I looked down at the box of batteries in my hand and thought of my step dad. I thought of how he'd been there since I was 2 and how so suddenly he left my life at 14. I thought about why he left and where I was now, why I hadn't talked to him more about it.

Even now as I walk out of my room and practically become crippled with pain I consider if I should talk to him or not. So many people in my life influence the way I think and act and never have I found a man who obeyed the law or was honest in his actions. 

After going downstairs and hiding my face away from my friends and into the crest of my mothers neck I've lost what I wanted to truly say. The urge to bawl still lingers but as my friends remain in my room I keep my throat shut tight and my eyes hidden with the back of my head.

Man Nerds

It's always a competition, a game to one-up but not as fun as Mario. A manner-less, selfish game to make the other down, down the other, it's life. To get money, to get power, credits, and to get a reputation that proceeds what you actually are. Rudeness brings rudeness, but niceness brings shame. A life to live with an urge of guilt or a fall of shame, to your knees you go.

I went out for a bit, got distracted, and lost my mojo.  

Sun Yellow

The intensity of things makes them easier to identify, correct. The intensity of colors. An intense, bright yellow is obviously yellow, the same goes for blue, red, magenta, macaroni and cheese, whatever. Is it the same for feelings? The more intense the easier to know what it is you are feeling? I like to think so. So there is an explanation for outrageous actions and pursuing an issue, to know. To identify the feeling! All a better reason to understand adrenaline junkies, to know. To get the fuel and to be the understander.

aghhh if my head didn't hurt, I'd be able to focus. Forget this.

Highschool Angst

It's another place to be pretend maturity but the real test is when you've been thrown down into the pit of confliction. When you're angry is when you show your true colors. Whether flinging chairs around the room or sitting quietly and thinking to yourself, maturity is a test of anger. I'll justify myself, sure, but when I'm angry I might not be so mature as I've been complimented to be so.

Pants of a Relationship

It was the wrong thing with the wrong person. And it wouldn't have been the right thing with the right person had the situation been any different. But it would have been the right thing with the right person had the person been different. I'm the wrong person for any "right thing", right for someone else, wrong for me. It'll be right for me when I'm ready, but I'll still end up being the wrong person.

Couples. I've never liked being around them. Even when I was a couple, or he was a couple with me, once even she. I still don't like being around them. You'll see things you wish you were, wish you could do with someone else you with they were. You'll see things that might make you uncomfortable, that are a higher level, or things you are glad you don't do with another. You'll see contrasts and conflicting sayings, conflicting desires. It's always those couples that I am irrate most around, the ones who say one thing, mean another, but underlying mean what they say, but their urge for sin is so strong that you know they want it. But.... couples, I never liked being around them.

There Was A ____ _____ In This Building

I've been mixed in with a bundle of affairs. Oh so punny, Taylor! No. Truly. Affairs here, promises there, expectations here, and then a dare. Dare he that, dare her that, dare the hare to win the race but he loses. A dare is a promise, so is a truth. What do you pick as to not bind yourself to any misinterpretations or regrets? Either way, I'm not bound to anything, not you or he or her or myself. I'm bound to no principals or morals, or even regrets. I'm boundless.

My Face

My face, an illusion of sorts, looks and watches and waits so such anticipating events. The event of recognition. Another event of beauty. Again another event of desire. But as I said "my face, an illusion of sorts" is a true statement. An illusion where one person may see one thing, another will see something different. One might see female qualities another will see male, boyish type qualities. Even in my voice and name I am not justified into womanism. To find my parents so perfectly fit and able to represent their genders in perfectioning ways is frustrating. The balance finds it's way once again, making beauty's replacement ugliness.

but in such ugliness I can be hopeful of one thing; beautiful replacements.

May 8th, 2010 Dream

Veronica wished me sweet dreams last night, how wrong to admit that I did not have one. It was terrifying, intense and infuriating.

It began in my room with my mom up here talking to me. My step dad enters and spots the plastic sword on my bookcase and goes to take it. "What're you doing?" I ask, no response. He walks out of my room with it, but I will not be ignored, nor have my things stolen. I follow him down the stairs and to the front living room where the Christmas tree was, it was still there in the dream. I shove him, hard, and he rolls and tumbles into the wall, I run after him. I begin pulling ornaments off the tree and throwing them at him hoping they'll shatter on his face but they don't, I am too weak. Somehow a pair of barber scissors ends up in my hand and I stab him in the chest and stomach three times. I am frightened of what he'll do when he gets up, so I run. I run up to my room, bolting, trying my hardest not to fall, once reaching the boundaries of my rooms walls I lock and shut my door but it will not close, I slam it over and over again until the bolt goes into the hole and finally it does, I am safe, relieved. But my brother is downstairs and I hear him call. "Taylor.. Taylor I have something!" Instantly I am filled with grief and I open my door to him, taking the steps down quietly. Gun shots are heard as I reach the bottom and I bolt grabbing my brothers arm. "He has a gun! He has a gun!" my brother screams. Once again the same procedure is made when shutting and locking my door. Nervousness and intensity fill every crevice of my skin as I search for my phone. "911, 911, please I need to call". I find it, I dial, no answer but music. I dial again, an answer on the third beat. "Hello?" "Please.. I need help. My step dad has a gun, hes trying to kill me, us, please! I need help!" "We'll send someone down.

It all becomes jumbled from there, but a cop comes, then leaves, refusing to get involved. I call again, another cop comes and he is shot. I give up on cops and call Samuel L. Jackson and explain to him my situation. He attempts to break into my house and kill my step dad for me, a hero, but he is shot once my step dad notices him. I call a cop again, he comes and is sneakier, more helpful but fails. I take his gun and suddenly my step dad and I are dueling outside, I'm tucking, rolling, jumping, dodging, gun shots firing aimlessly, but mine are directed at him. 

And I awake.

Modern Teenagers

Literally. Today I had my own exploration in a forest Veronica showed me at a park. I was trespassing, sure but I was feeding my human sense to explore, to discovery, my sense of childish curiosity that I've kept for so long and cherished so deeply. Anyways, back on track, it was almost personal, eye opening in a way that is metaphorical to me in my way. Where my friends stopped and went to play on modern playground equipment I continued on my own, fearless, curious, and daringly. I found loads of spots that I enjoyed, one being a sort of dragonfly haven where multiple dragonflies gathered to rest on leaves. I disturbed the area when passing through and found that it was almost like that scene from Peter Pan when the fairies were dancing. I also encountered a snake on my way, but the strange part was that he stopped for me. It was like he was waiting for my to cross so he could continue on his way, and it stunned me, maybe he was stunned too, however as soon as I came to my senses half a second later I bolted back a few yards and waited to pursue the trail. I met him multiple times, each time I let him continue just as he let me. When I came to the "end", or intersection of all the trails it ended at the crossing of all the water trails, the lakes, or rivers or whatever they call those man-made sewers. There was a turtle there, motionless but not dead. He acknowledged me and I him as I simply stared out at the view. The sound of cars was something I had to block out to enjoy it, but I couldn't. I took what I could in and left to return to my friends. Explaining the sensation of exploring that forest was like explaining why a man likes to dance, it's hard and sounds stupid all together. 

Metaphorically, it told me how I might deal with life, always striving through past what scares me, taking a step back, but continuing to realize the golden end.

Goodbye.

No More Sweet Dreams

I was right and I'm sure you know it. No more good luck, no more good night, no more sweet dreams, no more good morning kisses. You've lost your touch, I've lost my trust. You don't care to find your way through the maze, I don't think how do I know? It's like reading the book of an untrusted narrator, his opinion, his words, are useless. My paranoia if I can call it that, my self-consciousness, my doubts and all my worries are collapsing on my shoulders, I can feel them press against my ribs, my chest.

I couldn't sigh today. After days and days of sighing, or work, or worry, I couldn't do it, I couldn't sigh. It built up as always and when I did sigh it was like coming alive again, like coming up from drowning or the couple seconds after almost dying.

Tell me. Tell me. Tell me. It was the same with another, a mirror image in a fun house, warped, yet I stand the same. Upset, hurt, breathless. Tired as always. Exhausted, so tired, so drained from my eye sockets to my knee sockets. 

Got distracted. Bye.

Silly Suicide

Just a question, you ever been joyous as a bee but still been curious about death? I have more questions. Who is to say death is so morbid? Those who are left behind, right? What about those facing the mystery. The glorious, mass mystery of life other than religion, but technically this ties into religion. Death, it's seen as a dark, depressing "whole" of life, why not look at it as a beginning of a new story or questions answered? Those who cherish knowledge will surely cherish dying. To know what is there, to know how it feels and how to be. 

Death, to me, is not scary, but instead rather inciting. It's evil you say, they say, I say not! Why is suicide such a wrong way to be curious? It does not leave those behind happy, no, but neither does moving, or breaking up, or such a thing as that. I know there are flaws in my fascination, in my interests, in dying, but when you have no memory or no desire for yourself then whats the matter with a little questioning? A little death?

Flauntimity

On my nose, in my eyes, no shame. What shame do you have? What manners? Societal rules have left your fingertips, flow right into the cracks of the cement, unreachable, ungraspable. No longer seen by the world and they continue to soak into the soil. You have no rules, again no manners, no shame again. Rude. Where are my authoritative stances? Where are my no's and my get out's? Is this a test to learn to stand up, to tell you off, to kick you out? Yes. You'll not set foot in my home like this, so rude, so inconsiderate, so thoughtless of what you say. I once thought of you, your people, as nothing but manners but now I see the difference. Like between the French and British... nono, not good enough, between the Americans and Canadians. 

Good job, I may be writing about you and your people, but you specifically have caught me off guard, have ruined this post. You make me uneasy, I consider you a thief though I'm not sure, but... I have a bad bad feeling about you and I'll stick to it.