Tag Archives: my week

My Week (7/6)

A few paragraphs on what I can’t get out of my mind in early July.

You don’t want me. You want a woman who’ll tell you you’re the greatest. I won’t lie to you. You want a flouncy, thin beauty with a button nose and that kind of history. You can’t handle my mess. And I can tell you what you can handle, because I’m stronger than you are, and you don’t argue with me. Find someone with lovely eye sparkles who knows how to put on subtle. Talk to her about her blushing secrets and tampons. You can’t brush with complexity. And you still suck at grammar.

We treat these people who care like wild flowers we want to press inside novels with hardback covers we’ll pretend to our friends we’ve read. That’s how rare these strange creatures are in our lives of you can’t shock me anymore. We’ve seen it all. You cannot offend us. We have no scruples. Until you hit a nerve, because they’re so well hidden. You show us a gif of a woman’s legs breaking backwards and that’s it. We lose it. But we’re invisible so it doesn’t matter that we don’t care.

Folk music is about people. There’s isn’t a pop fault veneer. It says this is the way it is. This is the way these people lived. And you’ll love them for it. It says I know the person you’re singing about, I’ve met her, she is me. There’s no glancing over pain. The pain is there with the beauty and the winter and the gloom. They’re always simple songs, it’s like I don’t need mixing to show you how I feel. The songs are clear. They open themselves up with a guitar and a story, and say sit down for a minute, and I’ll tell you about me. These are the people who are barely getting by saying, I’m gonna live with music. And I won’t die with nothing. And that’ll be just the way it is. These are the songs you need not to get through the bad times, but to get through the good.

The switch in my brain just swotched and now I know I’m talking too much.

There’s nothing left of me now. All gone and empty. They took it all. I can feel where the thoughts used to be.

My Week (6/16)

I sat back driving my mother’s car and tried to memorize Willie Nelson lyrics by playing them on repeat.

I wanted my heart to break so I can feel something other than what I’m feeling now.

I returned a book to the library wearing work clothes. I wanted to have read the book I put in the slot. I’m returning a bit of my soul with this. I should’ve said that.

I told myself I wasn’t going to open my mouth today. I was going to speak in short and complete sentences. I wasn’t going to make mistakes and sound like an idiot.

I waved my hand in front of my laptop screen in the dark to watch the silhouette blur, to find something to watch.

Mom told me I have steel underneath they haven’t found yet. She told me if they can’t see my value that’s their problem. I’m not sure, no I’m not, not ever. I guess, I’m sure about being not sure though.

Is that what it’s going to be like? In the middle of whatever I’m doing, I’ll think I could have been doing this with you? I’ll think, I could have gone with you. I’ll think, why didn’t you ask?

She said she could tell from my writing I was confused, I think she may have used the word discombobulated. She’s right, though I’ve never thought of it in those terms.

I can know it’s there, I can watch her say it, I can know the words coming out of her mouth are false. They are hurting me. and I can’t stop it. Then she hugged me, and I couldn’t tell her not to touch me. I am not to blame for this. I am not to blame. She can’t put this one me. It’s not mine.

I’m crashing again, aren’t it?

I have to keep telling myself, this is not me, I am not here. So I can keep going. I am not here.

I had a conversation with the parts of my brain that give me opinions. I am crazy. This is not me. I can do this and it will not affect me, because I am not here. I feel like I need the magic key, the if I could just key. But he’s not here, and I can’t find him. He wouldn’t understand anyway. I’ll sit here and cry with the rain, like I always do.