i'm not actually better than you, I'm just full of it.

I've been pretentious. It's kind of how I overcame the self-loathing. 
But that's no excuse for being a big huge butt.
I'm sorry.
And sure, I've got this thing against "normal. " But that doesn't mean I'm right.

i don't like it.

I've spent so long not caring about this sort of thing. But now that I realize everyone I like will leave if I don't tie them to me somehow, I want permanence and security. Now that I've realized she'll get married and settle down, he'll get married and run away, everyone will go? I want to beat them to it. I want to be the one to leave behind a void for once. I want to be the one who moves on to something better for once. I don't want the hurt of lost friends who forget my unimpressionable existence. I want to be the one who forgets.

I want someone I can keep and someone who will keep me.

And this realization of my desires and dependence makes me kind of ill.

guard dogs bare your teeth and claws.

i would split my knuckles to defend you
and your pride
because i know how much it means to you!
some days you few are the only reasons i'm still here.
and i would give up the life you help me value
to make you feel alright again.

in a word:

Fuck.
In several:
Sometimes it's best not to be honest.
Okay, most of the time it's best not to be honest.
But we'll do it anyway!
Because we all matter to each other.
And all of our shit is worth it.


We're all still scared, confused kids, aren't we?

a metaphor for emily.

I wish you would believe you could be with someone deserving of you. Micah Clare is a nice kid, we should all be friends. I have nothing against him! I only have something against the mathematical equation you seem to be trying so hard to create for the sake of feeling lovely, for the sake of hiding from lonely. "You+Him."

I never even liked math. 

You deserve a guy that fits your list! At least some of it. At least any of it. You deserve that.

You deserve everything. You're Emily-fucking-Garinger! In my eyes, you deserve the world!

In my eyes, you are the ocean. And Clare is a lukewarm cup of tap water.

You are crashing waves and rolling tides; you draw in the world and spit out your refuse, and sink the things you like inside. He is contained within his paper cup, he cannot hold the great wreck of a ship within his confines! If he tries to do what the ocean does, all he is will be shoved out and there will be nothing of him left, nothing left in his crumpling shell. 

Neither may you comfortably crawl, possibly fit, into a container like his. Your salty waters are not suited to stillness, to smallness. And if he were to try to join you instead, he would be swept away; he would become a shipwrecked sailor, decaying and mixing with the sea.

You are the ocean!

You reflect back the traits and faces of those you admire, you reflect the endless expanse of the sky. You ripple your surface and make the images your own, a part of you unique. Nobody can ever see a whole reflection in the circular surface of a cup of water. And the bit seen will only be a still, undistorted copy. He is not big enough!

You are the fucking ocean!

You move. You swirl and shiver and tumble. He will not move. He may vibrate slightly with the bass or footsteps nearby. But it is nearly imperceptible! It is thin and only because of a stronger influence.

You are the ocean. 

You hug the world! You touch everything all at once and you give it life and you drown it. You love everything and you hate everything.


He will never reach the other continents. He will never give enough life, he will never take enough breath.

You are beautiful and great! He is on every fucking  average counter in every shitty  average home, where every sad mother and father pray for the hell-bound  souls of their children, and every no-longer-child tries to hide from/find themselves. Our stories are all the same, but we managed to grow differently.

You managed to become as huge and full and real as the ocean.

And we need cups of water, I suppose. Sometimes we need cups of water. 

But not to admire, not to love, like we love the ocean!

And hell, half the time I drink straight out of the faucet.

This is my metaphor.

It is about water instead of fire. But if you want a metaphor for that, he is a match and you are the sun. He is a breath and you are the sky. He is a blade of grass and you are the dandelion puff that defies all standard methods of taming a lawn!

Metaphors can be ridiculous. But the point is, you are the fucking ocean.

all of the closets!!

I think I've finally decided what my beliefs are. God is in all of us, God is something bigger than what we can bind by books or rituals. I think God is sort of magic. And I really don't care if this is kind of crazy. Because everything is a little crazy anyway, and it's lonely to think that there's nothing bigger. It's also lonely to think that something bigger might be exclusive, like I have to earn my way into the "heaven club." So. I am not a Christian, I am not an Atheist. I just believe, you know?

I am queer. I am okay with that. Really, that's all there is to it. I think everyone would be happier if they were queer; this is silly maybe. But it's just a thing I think. Anyway, I'm queer. That's an umbrella term that basically means "fuck off, I will love who I love, I will live how I like." All I want is respect. And for my mom to never again say that it's just a phase. (Because that makes me scared her love will eventually go away if my feelings don't.) My queer-ness/gender/sexuality/etc. does not define me entirely. Still, these things are real parts of me, parts of who I am; and I am happy with that. 

I am not always a super-cool person. I get lonely. Because even though I am often self-aggrandizing, I can also be mean to myself, sometimes. And I need people. We all need people. Let's need each other.

I've tried so hard to avoid hurting people or making other people suffer, but then I suffer and become a worse person for it. In the end, it's all a mess. I will work less on apologizing for every little thing. I will make my actions meaningful, every one of them, especially my apologies. I will try to love with all my heart, because anything less is pointless. It is okay to take risks. I need to learn to take risks. I do not want to be timid and half-hearted any longer.

When I leave home, I think I might stretch my ears and get tattooed. And maybe get my lip pierced? (Tattoos if I can man up and face the needles. Either way, tattoos are nice.) For now, I'm gonna work up the courage to buy a couple men's shirts. So mom, your plan to force your idealist opinions on me failed. I'm sorry I'm not the perfect little girl parents wish for. I love you.

And you, Emily. You're beautiful and I'm not ashamed for saying so. I guess it sucks if my words make you uncomfortable. But like Augustus Waters, I will not deny myself the simple pleasure of saying true things. You are cute and your brain is amazing and I like you a lot as well as respect you, and these things are facts of life that I will not just ignore. I don't care if you'd rather boys say all this stuff; I have a mouth and eyes and I am your friend and I think these things sort of give me a right to say it too. Try to understand me a little more, and maybe you can feel more comfortable about it. 

The end, I guess, because I feel really nice, and this is all I want to say right now.

Oh and also, I think that everyone needs to try harder to be happy. It's possible to be happy.

 Okay? Okay. 

if you're so sick of them and yourself

why don't you try?

Maybe my mom is right. Maybe I'm trying to understand everyone but straight people.
... For some reason I feel like they already get enough understanding from like, 98 percent of the population.
So excuse me.

Secretly, i just believe everyone is somewhat queer. Except you, mr loyal husband who likes all your blond friends' facebook photos. You're just a douche-bag.

we're all dumb.

Yes parents are a pain, but you know nothing of the world and it could be so much worse.
Settle down, stop trying to act like such a bad-ass.
I don't like you.
Today is Thursday and it is stupid.

the eye of the beholder.

I think I'm just so turned off by muscular guys because they perpetuate the idea that men are the strong ones, the protectors, in charge. They reinforce the misogyny of a patriarchal society that belittles the abilities of women and has done so since the beginning of time. Men do not have to compete for women or win them like prizes by beating the shit out of each other with their big meat-heads the way rams do. This isn't animal planet. I do not need an alpha-male. So calm your pecs.

And I'm not all that attracted to "sexy" girls because "sexy" perpetuates the idea that females are made to be first and foremost visually appealing, objects to get off to. But women are more than breasts and skinny waists and carefully lined eyes. They do not need to lure me in with their appearance. I am not a female bird, attracted to bright, puffed-up plumage.

Not that there's anything wrong with being buff or hot. I just mentally connect those things to social stereotypes that bother me. And I don't mind if people want to look like this; I'm just not attracted to those types, personally.

In a relationship, I want things to be equal. I think that's why long-term, I only imagine myself with girls. It just seems more... "even," I guess, in my mind. I hate the thought of being seen by others as the weaker half of a relationship. I am aware that this is probably mostly in my head.

I definitely prefer the middle ground though, when we're talking looks and types. I like cute people and queer people. I like skinny jeans. I like cargo shorts. I like tank tops and sweatshirts and gauges and bare feet.

I guess I don't like gender or what it means in this society and I wish it didn't exist.

once upon a time.

Nobody tells love stories for people like me, so I thought I might try. 

But I know so very little of love. I know very little of anything, really, and my every emotion is dulled by its opposite, as I feel all things at once; love and hate and sadness and happiness. Everything I feel comes from one half of my heart, and the other half holds the first half back, waters it down. 

The negative half usually wins over my mouth, while the positive steals my mind. My lips part not for kisses but for accusations and desperate words. 

Still, the tender and sweet things make little homes inside my skull, homes woven out of daisy stems, dens in the riverbank. 

All of us live in there, and we're really happy, and that's all I know of love.

The people who should care about me most are making me feel sort of crappy. 

But maybe I complain too much. And my expectations are probably ridiculous. 

i might finally be losing it.

I swing my legs back and forth and look at my toes or the sky. And you ask me if I'm okay, but that's a joke, because neither of us want to hear me say the truth aloud.

I'm not okay, though; why do I have to do this alone?

you ask, and i lie.

I'm not okay, sometimes.

Some days are worse than others, some days tangle themselves about my diaphragm and shorten my breath. But maybe it's just the weight of my chest; or maybe it's the pull of the heavy twenty dollars in my pocket, meant to be spent on men's shirts. Every time, I get too scared to buy them though. I'm afraid of her, of being a disappointment, of being her kid: the fuck-up.

She makes me feel like a little girl, when I'm trying so hard to be a full-grown gentleman.

... Other days I feel guilty, because I could have it so much worse.

Still, it hurts. And I feel confused about everything.

the sylph.

she's all flute and piccolo, 

lilting sounds, sweet sounds,

powder blue and stardust sounds

she's all he hears anymore

and the strings and drums

snap and rot

and their songs are painfully thin.