Telling myself I'm talented, pretending to be deep, fooling others into thinking I'm clever- enjoy.

 

Journal Entry

I’m essentially being left behind by each and all edge of whatever familiality I’ve had. I live in a double with my sister, my best friend. But let’s face it. I live alone because I could never reach first prize and should have realized once a boy reached the picture, I was in the sewers. I can’t even begin to ponder on my own situation. After all. Four years ago, I was a lesbian, but now I’m realizing the government finds me unreal and and lately I just have been falling for straight boys but will they know about me or just my body? I’m either made for second place ‘bro’ or a pity fuck once every three weeks.

But god. I might have fallen in love with this one, like I say about each one like they’re the first time for real. But I’m sure I’ve chased him away yet again. I’m not sure if my anxiety’s the perpetuate here, the pattern behind my abuse five years ago, or what but i can’t tell him on account he thinks I can’t trust him.

But I’m frightened of how much I do now and it’s making me bleed more than I have on my bathtub floor. I’m scared the weight just reacted its capacity. So. That’s why I take these steps back. And I want you, want you to see me and give me more than your bimonthly make outs. “You’re not a hallucination” kisses in overbearing places. And et cetera.

I love the idea of being the first to message. And first to call. To ask me over. I remember your particular vulnerability but I want your intimacy and I know you’re the one needing things in fifth gear. So please say the four little letters because I’m sure next time I have too much whiskey, rum, wine, i’ll probably smoke weed more frequently and nicotine will fill my head. And I’ll tell you that I’m unsure, but I might just so uncomfortably do. 

N.F

(Source: iamniccssoulandmind)

five months
since i started the idea
that i would be a koi fish.

i couldn’t kill myself for
something so
basic- i couldn’t reward with
killing myself- so

I became the mindset
I was no longer
human.

Lately
I’ve forgotten the purpose
but when
I told you the philosophy,
I wanted you
to

tell me
I
make a beautiful human too. 

N.F.

(Source: iamnicssoulandmind)

Petrichor

The smell
of dust after rain
reminds me of the last time
I’d run away.

To this day,
my parents haven’t the
faintest idea
where I’d gone.

My brother would
be next door, you’d see.

Safe
and sound with BB guns
shot in the distance.

But
I was
drunk in the woods,

having sex off wine,
without a care
if we were going to die
from pneumonia or rot.

N.F.

(Source: iamnicssoulandmind)

I wonder what would happen if I didn’t consciously swear I wouldn’t fall too quickly this time. Last time. Any other moment in history. After all, maybe I’m jinxing myself actual taboos in my situation, rather than composing a child’s bedtime morale. 

Maybe I wouldn’t feel so guilty for conveying thoughts I couldn’t conceive as thoughts if you mixed it with a full liter of 47% whiskey. 

How do I apologize for this appropriately?

Another date seems out of reach. Asking to have a drink would be just so I stop clawing at my skin. Would a song be more appropriate or should I at least give you warning that I took too many of my prescribed drugs before doing this and the combustion ended in a worthwhile result; might as well stick with it.

Maybe a truth- a cold truth- will show you have as much trust as you do. Put them on an Egyptian scale and hope the secret doesn’t send me to the Devourer when I just wanted another shot at some promise land. 

N.F.

so many questions
for this border breaking point. were you
so high that
you realized your high
was in the prison
high school all this time?

scoffing.

as
backstage jokes
aren’t yours to be had anymore;

now
you’re a strange visitor
reeling surprise
with each reopened door.

god.

why
would you think
your placement would be any better,
your ability any grander, when your grandeur
was
from sleeping with nameless bitches across
the state line.

now
you can’t even get a guy
to want you
past the night
without heroic attempt at
saving your mind. 

N.F. 

(Source: iamnicssoulandmind)

All
I’m capable of giving you
are empty promises. I can’t tell
you some guy
at a party gave me that whiskey, when the only guy
apart from my closest friends
who ever
offered me a drink
gave me
some rum and brandy
while
I stumbled
half blindly to his bed. 

So many.
Too many
questions
there are still. 

I was always told
you’d have
to
be your own hero.

Because
no one’s
going to fuck
the sad out of you. But I’m
yet to seem worth something through my reflection, and
the only time
I’ve been fucked since
coming here
was as a detox attempt to replace
the drunken sadness with some sort of drunken sobriety. 

But
there’s no way
to cure something so pure
simply carnally. 

And
when you know
a girl might be in love with you; fucking her
to kill her sadness only fuels
the wildfire
causing the initial blackouts each night. 

N.F.

As much as I hate the macho “first move” bullshit, I’m not sure going to bad as much as I do’s entirely healthy. Last time that happened, “love” was barely a sexual fascination. 

Fuck. 

How exactly do you learn?

That this agenda’s beneficial? That that one’s toxic? I mean, christ. 

Making plans make things a whirlwind. And where are yours? What advances have you shown? I’m overly paranoid, obviously. But. I need to learn to run. 

I don’t need to chase phantoms again. 

N.F.

there’s still 
black hair dye on
my bathroom floor from

when 
you dyed my hair and ruined
my favorite skirt. 

this is another
parallel story, and i
don’t understand why

you kissed me if
not for your alcohol content and confusion with
the metaphysic. 

N.F.

(Source: iamnicssoulandmind)

I’d recently read that poetry’s the space between two people naked. whether that meant textiles or apathetic borders, the answer would always be the same. each part of our connection made up enough words and flow to reconstruct The Illiad. 

N.F.

Every factor has a mutual base on “shoulds” and “wants to”. Every piece has a little bit of desire and plenty of emotion incapable of simple symbols and clicks. The problem’s always the timestreams, and knowing of “can’ts” because we’re all scratched records, forced to find minor themes to repeat in the track. So maybe this is just where my song goes: holding the emotion, body, physicality, but the alloys in each bonds can’t quite stick to being terrestrial. 

N.F.

(Source: iamnicssoulandmind)