look beneath the floorboards
i am easily
i am easily redirected, when i want to be. exposure to media is dangerous when you're lonely. books tell me to be tough. let no one inside, get hurt, don't be afraid. get in fights, kill, don't worry, get addicted. life is life and death is death and people should be afraid of me. don't stop fighting until you die.
i cooperate in my mind but know it won't work. i'm too soft for that. music falls me in love, certain chapters make me jealous and sad. mosquitos bite and knuckles pop. i am as sober as i have ever been but angry. so angry, sometimes. every word spoken is wrong, shut the fuck up. everything is a problem, go away. do not speak to me, ask me what is wrong, don't believe the truth. it's nothing. everything is wrong but there is no reason. just ridiculous. i go quiet for a day, escape family and lie on my grandmother's bed alone. everything is wrong but there is nothing to be done. sometimes it is just like that. i hate to be selfish but i will be. i will try in vain to find another solution so i can keep what's mine to myself. i hate to be a bastard but i will anyway. get used to it.
i was driving down to the beach early friday morning, bonnaroo on the deck, looking out the window of the olds. a heavy hair threw itself from my head without looking back and hit my arm with so much force that i nearly jumped out of my seat. cops ran me off the road twice. it was all worth it for track nine.
last night i got desperate. not desperate enough to do anything about it, but desperately frustrated with the... everything. my family, our problems, the old bastards of the world, the time of night, the cold, the anger, the boredom. i needed my goddamn motorcycle {i found it, by the way. built in 1959, went for nine and a half thousand on ebay just this evening... fuck}. i needed to run out in the thick night and destroy things. or just drive up and down this fucking island by myself. or with someone. one of those nights everything would have been better with someone. or alone. some things are better alone. i wanted to walk on the beach, but i wanted someone too.
i saw beauty today. stepping off the bus into the dusty fire station hub i walked behind my family. ahead of us was another family, a father, a girl, and another. she was beautiful, the kind of girl my mother wouldn't understand if i ever introduced them. i don't know how old she was, younger probably, but it doesn't matter. she had a tight, thin, black synthetic top on that fell over a light skirt over black and white striped socks {a pirate touch, i suppose}. from behind, she had short light hair, blue on the sides, red on the bottom. her face, when i caught a glimpse was porcelain. we followed, passed, receded, ebbed, followed them to the docks where she struck off under a tent while my family kept to the street. i kept watch for her for the rest of the day but never saw her again.
in the walk-in closet of the restaurant was set up an official merchandising store. it was shaded from the sun and the heat but not air-conditioned. they wouldn't let us look at our own t-shirts. standing in front of the rack was a red-haired girl. she was beautiful in the way my parents and most other people would appreciate. there's something special about a red-haired girl, like a rare species of flower. a good one anyway, always hits the soft spot of my entire being. she was personable and eager to please, excited about breathing it seemed. wore a yellow kenny chesney shirt {god knows she was from here, like me}. probably the daughter of a volunteer. long thick red hair and a lightly tanned face. freckled, you know the type. it was cute. i stood back and let my parents negotiate, stepped forward and confidently spoke when i needed to, but stood back and looked at the ground when i didn't have to. same as the other girl, i looked away, scanned the room to her face, and looked down. i walked away and looked back. i tried to posture myself although i'm still not sure what i ever want people to think of me when i do that. i just want them to come up and speak to me. i have an undeserved confidence that if people speak to me, i can keep them. she had a southern accent too... just beautiful.
i felt particularly sick this afternoon. fell asleep watching france knock out brasil {heresy, i know, but i didn't really miss anything} and dragged myself back to my bed to die under a fuzzy blanket. my neck and head were killing me slowly. it's easier to just lay there and try not to think, the pain leaves with effort and care. apathy and sloth are numbness. after i was spoken awake, fed pills, and dinner, my parents felt like walking on the beach. i followed them, acting quiet, walking behind, looking at the ground, stealing glances at the pool, at the girls walking around, not layed out in the light drizzling rain. i never want to speak to them, i just steal looks, try to be unnoticed but noticed all the same. i hope my stomach looks tight through two t-shirts, that my pecs are noticable {and who am i fucking kidding anyway?}, that maybe i look like a strong, healthy, interesting, caring, intelligtent {i spelled it wrong, fuck it, proves my point i guess}, someone you would want to know. which i think i am... i hope. i just count on someone else to take the initiative, they never do. on a third floor balcony stood a young girl in a dark bikini with lighter stripes. long dark hair, bored face, stood leaning against her railing, arms crossed, watching the pool. she glanced down as i looked up. it is strange that you can tell, even if you aren't looking for it, even if you aren't even close, when you lock eyes with someone. it's instantly there, that awareness, and i looked right back down at the ground. of course i stole more glances of her, looked back when i felt the urge, but i couldn't tell you anything else about her.
i can't tell you much about myself except that i don't really know. i'm formed into the mold of every book i read, every song i hear, every movie i watch, over and over. i am a thousand things from one instant to the next. most of them irrational to begin with and therefore, without cure or release. no fill to the hunger. i can only imagine when it must be like to be my own friend. i give out shit and am apologetic as i can be. i give out shit when they don't deserve it and don't even realize what a bastard i am. i am the bastard i know i am and don't apologize for any of it. i guess it depends on the person. i try and take it the best i can. i try and listen and help. i don't know. i hope it's worth it. i don't know who i really am but i hope i am worth it. i always wanted to be at least as much a blessing as i get. i hope i'm worth it.
i hope i'm worth it.
i am easily redirected, when i want to be. exposure to media is dangerous when you're lonely. books tell me to be tough. let no one inside, get hurt, don't be afraid. get in fights, kill, don't worry, get addicted. life is life and death is death and people should be afraid of me. don't stop fighting until you die.
i cooperate in my mind but know it won't work. i'm too soft for that. music falls me in love, certain chapters make me jealous and sad. mosquitos bite and knuckles pop. i am as sober as i have ever been but angry. so angry, sometimes. every word spoken is wrong, shut the fuck up. everything is a problem, go away. do not speak to me, ask me what is wrong, don't believe the truth. it's nothing. everything is wrong but there is no reason. just ridiculous. i go quiet for a day, escape family and lie on my grandmother's bed alone. everything is wrong but there is nothing to be done. sometimes it is just like that. i hate to be selfish but i will be. i will try in vain to find another solution so i can keep what's mine to myself. i hate to be a bastard but i will anyway. get used to it.
i was driving down to the beach early friday morning, bonnaroo on the deck, looking out the window of the olds. a heavy hair threw itself from my head without looking back and hit my arm with so much force that i nearly jumped out of my seat. cops ran me off the road twice. it was all worth it for track nine.
last night i got desperate. not desperate enough to do anything about it, but desperately frustrated with the... everything. my family, our problems, the old bastards of the world, the time of night, the cold, the anger, the boredom. i needed my goddamn motorcycle {i found it, by the way. built in 1959, went for nine and a half thousand on ebay just this evening... fuck}. i needed to run out in the thick night and destroy things. or just drive up and down this fucking island by myself. or with someone. one of those nights everything would have been better with someone. or alone. some things are better alone. i wanted to walk on the beach, but i wanted someone too.
i saw beauty today. stepping off the bus into the dusty fire station hub i walked behind my family. ahead of us was another family, a father, a girl, and another. she was beautiful, the kind of girl my mother wouldn't understand if i ever introduced them. i don't know how old she was, younger probably, but it doesn't matter. she had a tight, thin, black synthetic top on that fell over a light skirt over black and white striped socks {a pirate touch, i suppose}. from behind, she had short light hair, blue on the sides, red on the bottom. her face, when i caught a glimpse was porcelain. we followed, passed, receded, ebbed, followed them to the docks where she struck off under a tent while my family kept to the street. i kept watch for her for the rest of the day but never saw her again.
in the walk-in closet of the restaurant was set up an official merchandising store. it was shaded from the sun and the heat but not air-conditioned. they wouldn't let us look at our own t-shirts. standing in front of the rack was a red-haired girl. she was beautiful in the way my parents and most other people would appreciate. there's something special about a red-haired girl, like a rare species of flower. a good one anyway, always hits the soft spot of my entire being. she was personable and eager to please, excited about breathing it seemed. wore a yellow kenny chesney shirt {god knows she was from here, like me}. probably the daughter of a volunteer. long thick red hair and a lightly tanned face. freckled, you know the type. it was cute. i stood back and let my parents negotiate, stepped forward and confidently spoke when i needed to, but stood back and looked at the ground when i didn't have to. same as the other girl, i looked away, scanned the room to her face, and looked down. i walked away and looked back. i tried to posture myself although i'm still not sure what i ever want people to think of me when i do that. i just want them to come up and speak to me. i have an undeserved confidence that if people speak to me, i can keep them. she had a southern accent too... just beautiful.
i felt particularly sick this afternoon. fell asleep watching france knock out brasil {heresy, i know, but i didn't really miss anything} and dragged myself back to my bed to die under a fuzzy blanket. my neck and head were killing me slowly. it's easier to just lay there and try not to think, the pain leaves with effort and care. apathy and sloth are numbness. after i was spoken awake, fed pills, and dinner, my parents felt like walking on the beach. i followed them, acting quiet, walking behind, looking at the ground, stealing glances at the pool, at the girls walking around, not layed out in the light drizzling rain. i never want to speak to them, i just steal looks, try to be unnoticed but noticed all the same. i hope my stomach looks tight through two t-shirts, that my pecs are noticable {and who am i fucking kidding anyway?}, that maybe i look like a strong, healthy, interesting, caring, intelligtent {i spelled it wrong, fuck it, proves my point i guess}, someone you would want to know. which i think i am... i hope. i just count on someone else to take the initiative, they never do. on a third floor balcony stood a young girl in a dark bikini with lighter stripes. long dark hair, bored face, stood leaning against her railing, arms crossed, watching the pool. she glanced down as i looked up. it is strange that you can tell, even if you aren't looking for it, even if you aren't even close, when you lock eyes with someone. it's instantly there, that awareness, and i looked right back down at the ground. of course i stole more glances of her, looked back when i felt the urge, but i couldn't tell you anything else about her.
i can't tell you much about myself except that i don't really know. i'm formed into the mold of every book i read, every song i hear, every movie i watch, over and over. i am a thousand things from one instant to the next. most of them irrational to begin with and therefore, without cure or release. no fill to the hunger. i can only imagine when it must be like to be my own friend. i give out shit and am apologetic as i can be. i give out shit when they don't deserve it and don't even realize what a bastard i am. i am the bastard i know i am and don't apologize for any of it. i guess it depends on the person. i try and take it the best i can. i try and listen and help. i don't know. i hope it's worth it. i don't know who i really am but i hope i am worth it. i always wanted to be at least as much a blessing as i get. i hope i'm worth it.
i hope i'm worth it.
posted by sunshine at 12:11 AM
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