I don’t want to impress or distract. I don’t want frills or parties or many friends. I want satisfaction with myself. I’ve always considered that to be my ultimate goal in life – to be happy being alone. To be able to find complete happiness and satisfaction if I were locked in a room by myself and no contact with others – if I could just exist alone and be content. My minimalist style really plays to that – it brings in light and uses only natural and modest colors to enhance the beauty of a space. Some might call that boring, but I think it just pares back all frivolity that many use to cover up insecurities and faults. In using minimalism, whether in decorating a room or in my closet, the style allows for the room to speak for itself, and for my body to speak for itself. I don’t need gaudy decor or makeup to display my personality. I am neither gaudy or frivolous. I am practical and natural. Something that can be depended on for elegance and quality.
The cavernous hole inside, swallowing light. Eating away at the life, slowly and surely it will die. Heavy headed, clouds on the mind. Aching for a presence. Missing and mish-mash, gone yet never mine.Ever-looming possibilities, worst is yet to come. This desire is unprofitable – all outcomes end in idle pain. Harboring cool indifference, you’ll never come around – as my weakness, you stand before me. Tender condemnation – forever segmented into a whole by the love I never received.
It must be great…
To have your phone constantly buzzing with people who want to talk to you.
To have hundreds of likes on anything you post on Instagram.
It must be nice to be invited to fun, exclusive parties.
It must be nice to have parents that love and care about you. Families that are concerned about your wellbeing. Who give you things you don’t need. Who support your decisions and want to be a part of your life.
From where I’m standing, on the outside, alone, it looks amazing.
Because I’ve always been an outcast. A weird kid. The person your kind will always exclude, even if just to give unification to your group. The one who gets picked on and pranked for the enjoyment of everyone else.
It’s my reality.
To have parents who never check up on me. To have siblings who actively bully me. To have to work harder than you at everything just to make a little bit of headway in every area of my life.
I have to settle. I have to make hard decisions. I have to lay in bed at night and feel social exclusion because no one talks to me unless I initiate a conversation.
And as I sit in the breakroom and your phone goes off every few seconds, I’m reminded that some people are just desirable.
And I am not.
But perhaps a person has to go through the social exclusion and the reality of being undesirable to lift the veil and uncover that life is about the little moments, the sweet and cherish-able rather than the short lived and meaningless. Perhaps I have grown more than you, perhaps I have a stronger sense of self and independence because no one actively cares about me.
Or maybe that’s something I tell myself to feel better.
Deep sigh escaped between her lips, a lost moment.
He would never understand that when she smiled to herself, it was nearly always because he was nearby.
The sound of his voice. His pitchy laugh. The way that he would sing obnoxiously. All of it made her heart glow.
He might know, but understanding of her deep affection would be lost on him because he did not feel the same way.
Seeing him literally made her day better. That alone made it a good day.
She loved him.
In love with a condescending prick.
Conceited. Thinks very highly of themselves, but is quick to see the worst in other people.
Hypocritical. Refuses to make justifications for other people, or see things from their point of view. Acts as though they are perfect, however when presented with the idea that they were flawed they stumbled on their words and tried to flee the situation entirely.
You use Big words, Big air, Big personality to hide that you are a tiny man. You can’t even confront your own flaws.
Oh yes – you know about them.
However, much like the way that I hoard sentimental objects in boxes in my closet, you shove your flaws out of sight as soon as you’re done looking back on them (which you systematically do to allow yourself to say you are “mindful”.)
Because you just have to be conscious of your problems, right?
It’s not like you’d ever try to run away from your problems if someone ever tried to plop one in front of you, unannounced.
Of course not.
But have you actually tried to fix them?
Once you casually mentioned you had gotten your father into debt with your unpaid credit card. Sure, you’re living in a place outside of your parents home. Sure, you’ve got a job. But how independent can you really be if you’re still under your parents financial wing?
Once you casually mentioned that you didn’t have a car because you spend your money on recreational drugs. That is a stereotypical character flaw. You allow for this addiction to escape and feel alive control your everyday life – at this point it’s severe enough to be considered a disorder.
Mentioned that sex was addicting too. And alcoholism. But those are just fluff to the inter-dimensional character of all your flaws.
In part, I fell in love with you because of your flaws. I’ve always loved myself a complex character. Said that if I were presented with these damaged people, I would see past their character quirks and learn to love them for their humanness.
Because you, Leo, are the embodiment of the human condition. You are constantly trying, however you simultaneously working against yourself with self destructive tendencies.
It’s truly beautiful.
You are troubled and refuse to accept that in your everyday life. You know you are, but won’t allow others in to see that. And all the while you work yourself silly. You think that our movie theatre and management is what causes you to not be promoted, that it has little to do with the way you present yourself – but do you ever think about who Leo is as an employee? What he looks like to upper management? Sloppy. Disheveled. It doesn’t matter how hard you work if it’s not streamline and composed. You show up late to work, often stand around with empty hands, don’t take initiative. Sure you are a backbone to the floor – but you need to learn to notice when things need to get done and delegate. You want a promotion? Act like you already have it. You want to be needed? Make yourself more valuable to the company than it is to you. You need it to pay rent, why does it need you?
To call upon my sentimental boxes again, perhaps you are afraid of the meaning in your actions, like the meaning of the objects I hold onto.
I’m afraid that I will never live the exciting life I desire. I’m afraid I will lose everyone I love. Actually, I’m afraid I have already lost them..
I know I can be scathing, but the truth is that I still admire you. I still fucking love you and your oddities. I see my eclectic side in you, and I’m always wanting to see more of her.
How ironic is it, that as soon as I stopped putting effort into this, the world started showering with me with beautiful situations that I never could have imagined would have happened.
I just have to keep myself in reality check – all of it means nothing.
I might have run into your dad today, but it’s coincidence. As soon as I’m not in love, that’s what I would say. Strict fact, no imagination.
But I am in love – so the fact that I saw your dad makes everything feel so significant.
It was funny, really – he had accidentally driven on a curb when I was walking by – we laughed about it. Your dad is just as awkward as you.
I was listening to the same song that I was yesterday, when I glanced up and saw you.
I know it all means nothing, but I want it to.
That’s the worst part about being atheist and cynical – everything has lost its magic.
But everything becomes real. No more fairytales or flattery – it’s solid fact.
But love isn’t a solid fact. It’s hormones that makes us act all silly.
I know one day you’ll walk through these doors and have a girl by your side and I’m going to be devastated. Angry. I won’t talk to you and I’ll cry. But you’re not mine and never were.
All of this will go away.
I’m moving, but I’m ignoring that.
I’m probably still going to love you when I’m gone.
I can’t ignore that I have actually just run into you everywhere, that every time I just happened to be thinking about you, you literally pop up around the corner in the grocery store or waving at me from a car or biking on the road.
I’m looking for significance where it’s not. Perhaps it becomes significant when I want it to be.
Like the way that your eyes speak when I look into them.
The fact is that I love you and I hate that.
I want to be in control and I cannot control this.
I feel like rambling. Letting my words flow free like a brook. Roll, pass, flow, dipping and weaving elegantly passed beautiful vines and rocks and wildflowers.
I’m naive. Letting the cursor blink. Thoughts halt. I’m afraid. Something inside me just stops, wondering if I will ever understand. Analog age, no more wildflowers. Silicon Valley instead of my hometown horchata and Orange Blossom Junction valley with the Dead Rat Saloon – trading that small town for a high tech city that moves faster than Cottonwood Creek ever would. You can’t hold onto the riverbank if the water moves too fast. Can’t find your footing in the riverbed if the current whips you away before you know what’s under your feet.
Let me lay under the sun once more on that blacktop in front of dad’s shop, smell the fresh fruit growing on trees, hot sand on summer days – mallow mounds and lemon trees.
Got to thinking about the calluses on my feet. How I dislike them. Rough, reminding of how I stand for hours on end. Reminding of how I walk. The calluses that have been created by the lifestyle I didn’t choose to have.
I could not have stopped these calluses from forming.
I wondered how painful it would be to not have them. How much the calluses have saved me from. They protect me. Have been pressed against. Pressure prodding against the poor feet. All the pressure that would have sunk deep into my soft skin, pierced my nerves through my daintiness.
I cannot help but draw comparisons between my physical calluses and my emotional ones. I have been abandoned, disappointed, rejected by so many, but most important by my family. That negative emotion presses on me, I grew callus because I had no other option. I had to tell myself that was just the way of life – people would abandon me. I grew layer upon layer of protective emotional calluses, formed by years of neglect.
The calluses on my feet are there because I am in the working class. The calluses on my heart are there because my family is dysfunctional. Both serve as protection against a more painful reality. If I didn’t have the calluses on my feet, I would be in a lot of pain everyday as I stand or walk or rush around. If I didn’t have the calluses on my heart, I wouldn’t be able to bounce back from all the little struggles I face everyday. They would consume me, take me down effortlessly.
But here I am, callused and strong. All of the negative experiences I have been through collectively come together to form something positive. I may have been neglected and abandoned as a child, but I can withstand more than someone who wasn’t. I might have to work until 1am, but my feet are hearty and my will to finish strong is invaluable.
Here I stand, and here I shall stay.
How the fuck did I make it through high school? It was a goddamn trip and I’m so happy it’s over.
It was depressing, felt like it was never going to end. The teachers sucked. The students sucked. The atmosphere sucked. I didn’t learn anything useful besides the science courses, and most everything was a huge waste of time.
It’s not what people make it out to be, not even in the movies that paint it in a bad light – for me it was a depressive haze. People talked about me behind my back, as I walked by, they had nothing better to do – and it killed my self esteem.
Before I was in high school, nothing could stop me. My motivation was maxed out, and I wanted to change the goddamn world.
Nothing but high school could have killed that incredible spirit.
And when I say high school, I’m talking about the back stabbing bitches and the teachers who did the least, I’m talking about the people who poked my back fat when I was a freshman, the insecurity I felt when running during PE, I’m talking about having to breakup with ex boyfriends and dealing with seeing them around with new girls, the drama – the anxiety – the depression – all accumulating to create the shit expirience I had.
I’m hoping that I can just move on from that trauma and create a new life for myself. My actual life. The actual me.
Place me inside of a glass jar,
Release into the vast expanding
Universe we gasp for air.
Closed off. Veins pulsing. Hot,
Glowing orbs protest against our breath.
There is nothing to breath in this
Everything is a thin film away
from being ours. Unobtainable, running
in circles around my cage. Unaware that
I have made no progress.