the private blog.

When logic and proportion
Have fallen sloppy dead
And the White Knight is talking backwards
And the Red Queen’s “off with her head”
Remember what the dormouse said;
“Feed your head, feed your head”

update on previous situation: so pretty much… i’m going to make you fall in love with me, and then when you come crawling back into my arms, i’m going to let you go so hard that i’ll almost feel bad…

but i won’t (:

i fucking hate you. i hate you for who you are, who you pretend to be, and for who you were and will turn out to be in the future. i hate the way you say my name like it means something more than some syllables you’ve caressed with your tongue like all your other lovers, like i’m not just another string of letters in your alphabet soup of girls, identical in substance, different only in shape. i hate

that your words are sharper than any knife made to tear fabric, and that when you say something you mean it so much that it hurts. i hate your anglo-saxon suburban upper middle class demeanor— your impeccable diction choice, your aristocratic vernacular, your keen ability to detect bullshit and then turn around and bullshit the entire world in return. i hate your stupid nice-white-boy façade; your stupid broad shoulders and your stupid thrift store jackets; your stupid conversational skills and your stupid story-telling abilities and your stupid stupid inclination to abuse substances like you’re a cat with nine lives. i hate

that at one time i thought we could’ve been bonnie and clyde meets sunny and cher meets mr. and mrs. brady; a lawyer and a doctor as a stripper and drug dealer on the side. i fucking HATE how clever you are, because at the end of the day you just used it to fuck everyone over, me included, and oh how i despise that well-rounded, intellectual, Renaissance candor you use to reel in all the peasants and princesses; i swear you’re a thief in shining armor judging by the frequency you pick pocket hearts.

now, what i most especially hate

is how hard it is to hate you. but since hate may as well be love, i think it’s about time i throw in the towel. i’m done hating you… i think it’s time i focus my energy on someone more worthwhile.

At times I’ve shouted out unprovoked, at the world and you,
Just to see if the people around me react.
Sometimes I think they’re all acting,
At times I’m scared that I’m acting too, like
My movements are stage directions.
Was that a change in topic or a beat in the scene?
Have I been taking my emotional cues from scripts I wrote at sixteen?

Maybe I just think about it all so much
That that the fear stays close to all the ghosts I’ve touched.
Makes me question
Was it love or just lust?
Caked in blood or old rust?
I don’t know.

Don’t we remember all the moments we remember the best
Framed in poems and in pictures, sang aloud in refrains?
Does this cycle of pain and disdain for the past
Not work exactly the same?

Maybe it’s just as much about what comes our way as it is about how we react.
Just as much about the things that we’ve still got as it is about the things we lack.
I know we won’t always keep around those we feel we need–
some will fade in frames, some were born to leave–
But if we’re still here, and we still breathe,
At least we’ve still got time to figure it out,
To know what to do,
To know how to feel,
Know the things that I’ve been making up inside my head, and
To know what’s real.
I want to believe that the way I am is just the way it goes.
For the things that came, not the things I chose
to come.
I want to know if I had any control.
I want to know if it’d comfort me.

And if my heart just stops, pack my memories in it–
I want to know all the love I’ve got.
And if my heart just stops, keep me alive for a minute–
I want to know if a curtain drops.