target won't take me seriously.

No, but, lady. Listen. You don't understand. I've bled morals from the age of five, I've never stolen a thing in my life, I've never even considered it. These are conveniently circle shaped earrings, I'm not even allowed to stretch my ears. My jacket has a hood, but that doesn't mean I'm a hoodlum. Look. Look at me, I'm so awkward and socially inept, it's hardly funny. I just. I just want to try on this cardigan, alright? It's-- Fine. Fine, I'll leave my bag out here. Don't try to tell me it's protocol though. You don't make me do it when I'm with my mom. That's right, I still shop with my mother sometimes.

Couldn't you at least be suspicious with a smile?

just shut up.

I know I say too many words for my own good.
I'm sorry, okay?

There are often times a lot of things in my head,
A million thoughts that want to escape,
And never anyone who's willing to listen to them.

Other times, I'm just lonely,
Maybe need a distraction from something that sucks.

I used to be alright by myself.

there's that one saying.

I've thought about it a lot, and though I'm not really like, "Woo, perfect, girl, you go for it!!" about the whole couple thing (like i talk like that ever), I'm always going to tell you to do what you want. It's your life and you should do what you want with it, same as I would. All of us have our own responsibility to find our happiness. Nobody can really predict what that will look like, so we need to try things, search, learn, and grow into happy.

I wish you two luck, like I'd wish any couple. Honestly, you probably shouldn't take my opinion to heart too greatly, because I don't really believe in love; I mean, I do but my beliefs about it are kind of weird and skewed. I don't believe in the traditional equation of man+woman and idea of them vs. the world. I believe love has been made small and boxed up to fit into a society that desires separation, distance, cold shells. And, if lots of marriages end up broken, could it possibly not be the highest form of relationship? I don't know.

But I believe in community. In group. In finding the people you like and sticking with them. I believe in our house with "fuck you" stenciled on the wall and warm people sprawled out on the mismatched couches. I'd like someone to cuddle with and talk to, just the same as you do, but I don't believe that a man is the only one who can fit that spot. I believe in platonic partnership, friendship, fluffy dogs, too. I believe in comfortable. In "John, rawr!" kinds of kisses. In sharing. In sticking together. I believe in love, I guess, in my own backwards way.

You guys are doing what normal people are supposed to do, I'm the one who's kind of crazy and off.

... This post wasn't really supposed to be about me, I swear.

Anyway, I don't know if I think you two are great together or anything like that, but he's nice and average and even, so it couldn't really go bad, like terribly, right? Sure, there's always potential for a broken heart or loneliness, but I hear people get those things a lot; the common cold of emotions, people walking around with them on any street, any day. It's fine as long as you remember happy is waiting, as long as you remember how to be fine as "I," as "me," instead of "we." Does that make sense? 

Well, it's not my business anyway!

Let's be friends, I'm working on being sweeter.

stargirl.

leo, why.
no.
fuck.
what is this.
too tired.
to finish tonight.
eyes.
not.
opening.
enough.
alkdglakf;sagfj;l.

i can feel a bad day coming. someone, get the crayons and fruit.

i liked someone once.

It's my fault it hurts, my fault it ever hurts, my fault.

To them, I'm a girl, I was born a girl, I look like a girl. On the days that I wake up and hate those facts, I'm still a girl. I hate gender, you know that! For more reasons than my affections and the inequality of it all. I hate it because it binds itself to me, heavy and smothering and restraining. Some days are fine but some days are bad, some days it's as if everything wants to remind me of my limitations and ties.

My brother called me "he" a couple of days ago; I know it was just a tongue-fumble, but I kind of liked it when he did it again and said he knew I wouldn't care anyway. Well, I wish I fit neatly between male and female and we could just all be okay with that.

Chances are that more often than not, if I start to like a girl I won't be able to tell her or to try. I won't even get a chance to prove what a gentleman I can be, to hold her hand, to bring her flowers, to take her on adventures, to kiss her cheek, to write her notes, to sing her songs, to be the best friend. A boy doing those things is cute and sweet, but I'm pathetic, pitiable, and odd at best. I'll have to do absolutely nothing and happily watch that girl walk on into life with someone else at her side, a real boy, and I can't do a thing about it, I'm not even supposed to feel anything about it.

I'm a girl, I'm a girl and that's all. I'm not allowed to just be savanna. I'm a girl. No matter how much I like someone, I'm a girl.

I guess I get that, my gender is bound to my chest. It affects how you see me and how you value me. I look like a girl, that's all I can be. I get it, but god, it's fucking painful. It's my fault it hurts, my fault for being oversensitive, but it still hurts.

I liked someone once, but oh well.

My fault.

leaves.

I liked autumn, I always liked autumn the best, just like my mom did.

The house smells different. The air is crisp. There's the (short-lived) excitement over the start of a new school term. Holidays. Stews. Sweaters. 

This autumn I just want some new shoes, I want to learn things, I want to figure out how to enjoy tea, I want to meet people who believe differently, I want to adventure with my friend.

But as my "final" summer (one I wasn't actually supposed to have) comes to a close, I kind of miss it. Hot night walks, bare feet, short shorts, lake swims, sleeping on the couch, watermelon, spontaneity, dry ground. 

This has been my favorite summer.

I know things will change, no matter how much I would rather they not. I will grow older, we could grow apart, responsibilities, people, classes, parents, life. I don't want to go back to how it used to be, to how lonely it was. I can only hope the future will be even better than the present.

Soon it will be autumn, and I can't stop it.

we're all the unwanted, all the desired.

It's complicated, we're chasing the tails of the ones we can't have, the ones who don't need us, the ones who won't keep us. Lovers and friends and crushes and acquaintances; we shine on them a glowing light and expect them to take the heat! It's only a matter of time until we fall too far behind and we move on to the next intriguing flash in the brush, leaving our well-deserved wounds un-licked.

They want me and we want you and you want him and he wants them.

And we all grow infected. And we all grow lonely.

Why are we never satisfied by the ones who actually like us?

But we more-so wonder why the ones we want to like us are never the ones who do.

Words stuck, swollen in my throat; my tongue traces the backs of my teeth, like it always does when the sounds can't get through. Fingers scraping at my arm, nervous habit. That's gross, I saw this commercial once about how scratching makes dead skin go all up under your fingernails and--that's not important, why am I thinking of that. Eyes on the ground, don't let it be seen that I don't understand. Nod and make that sound, "Mm," or even better, "I get that," or, "Yah." I hate the sensation of ignorance! But I'm stepping into a  much wider landscape where it's likely all I'll feel. I know very little.

real and actual parental interactions.

"I know, I'm sorry."

"I'm starting to get mad!"

"I know, I'm sorry!"

"... GOOD!!"

It's like she doesn't know how to handle me when I don't fight it.

I know I'm irresponsible.

But mostly I'm just scared and small.

I know, I'm sorry.

you're right, i'm right, he's right, they're right, we're all right.

I think it's been understood that I'm not that great! We all know it.

I'm pretentious. I started thinking of myself as something more than I am in order to stop thinking of myself as nothing. I'm not sure which is worse.

I'm clumsy. Especially with people and words and feelings. Especially with you. I'm sorry. I want so badly to be someone who can make things better, but my thoughts get too loud and I can only be disagreeable and abrasive.

I know you don't need me, just like you believe he doesn't need you.

I'm not sure anyone needs anyone, but I'm fairly certain everyone needs everyone. Or everyone needs someone. Or everyone wants someone but maybe that someone doesn't want them. Or everyone wants nobody but needs everyone or someone. Something like that.

...

 Fact is, people exist and we are not alone. And we are not as big or great or important as we like to believe. But we also aren't as small or useless or unwanted as we tend to think.

I'm just going to try to be a little bit better, a little bit happier today.

red-head.

So let me try to explain this. I'm really glad you like stuff about me. I'm glad I can be around for now. It's cool that a male version of me would be acceptable to have a super nice indie life with.

But in my mind, that's the equivalent of someone not wanting to keep me because I'm not a natural red-head.

I pull very little from my gender. I don't actually care about being a girl. I'm fine with who I am, and no matter what, I hope I would be this person, despite what societal definition of gender was imposed on me. I like to think I'd be exactly the same if I had dude parts. I'd like to think you'd see me in exactly the same way.

Being with you isn't an option, which is fine, I'd rather have a temporary you than a never you. I'm not looking for anything more and I have no romantic feelings towards you.

I'm pretty happy. With how we are and the things we do and the present.

But it's still kind of off-putting. Especially when things seem to be going not-so-hot with these guys who's greatest qualification is their male-ness. I'm just sitting here like, "I won't mean as much because... I can't believe in anything long-term because... Why ? Because I'm not as great as they are?"

I could go on about this for a while, but I know I'm pretty wrong.

In the end, I get it, I'm glad you're honest. It makes me feel fairly good most of the time, like it's a compliment of my existence in a general sense and stuff.

I'm just not as understanding as I'd like to be.

Fuck feelings
and texting
and gender
and him
and me.
Fuck everything, I'm eating soup.

"my blood's still red and I'm just fine."

And that, kids, is why I've always been a rule follower. Oh well, we're alright and we probably learned a lesson or something! This is life, and we're okay. It was my goal to try making more questionable choices, anyway(?)

You'd make a good cheerleader, I'm sorry. Gender is stupid, I don't like it.

Pastor! I'm a pretty good kid and happier than I've ever been. The idea that you want to have my best friend somehow guide me back towards spirituality is kind of offensive. I mean, it shouldn't be, I've gone to Christian school my whole life, you think I'd be used to this. But seriously, man. I liked you. Maybe I'm just oversensitive, used to people knowing me as the kid who does no wrong. It could be a good thing to be more honest, I guess. I just wish it wasn't your job to try to "fix me," and that you didn't have to bring her into it. I understand, I just don't like it.

You're such a nice dude, I like you, I'm glad you came back! My night began to improve as we talked about gauges and guitars. You're pleasant company.

Thanks for the burrito curb date. Also, the beverage suggestion. And also also, your face! There is nobody I more like spending time with.

That was an excellent hug.
It didn't feel cheap,
like hi-fives
or teenage girl hugs.
And it had exuberance.
Like, "John, rawr!"
Anyway. It was nice.

age is a number, i don't like math.

Hold up!
I still like swimming and sidewalk chalk and Adventure Time and going barefoot and doing dumb things. And I hate formalities and politics and wearing "professional dress."
And I also like deep theoretical thinking and good metaphors and driving a car. I hate Spaghetti O's and being treated like I'm not old enough.

I don't think the things you do make you a kid or too young or immature.
I also don't think the things you do make you grown up or mature or adult.
The things you do
just make you you.
And that is perfectly alright.
Better than alright, even.
I quite like you.

I don't expect you to try to be a kid or to try to be a grown up.
I just expect you to be you.
And I think you're pretty good at that.

I'm going to admit it; I'm afraid of commitment.

What if I discover all there is to you? 

And when I reach the end of the novel and there are no more pages to read, nothing more being written, what if you're not a book I want to read again? 

Every morning I wake up and forget something that I once liked!

I guess I do act like a Sagittarius sometimes. 

(I guess.)

bro.

Sometimes I need to be alone, to breath. Your knocking on my door only irritates me and I show something ugly as I shove you away. Snarling teeth and swiping claws, us bear-faced panthers really aren't cute.

Kid, you're softer than you are rough, but when you fight, it's dirty and sharp. Oh, it's not as if I'll just give in; we'll both stalk away bloodied. I'm not afraid of you or your now-broad shoulders. 

We all know you're self-centered, but I know it's just so you can guard yourself! I know beneath threatening muscles and veiling stripes, you're a big huge kitten.

I owe you a lot; you were the first person to hear my secrets and not much care. 

I don't want to ruin our brotherhood. We were the best of friends. I know even if we choose different paths now, as full grown cats, we've still got that. 

Don't look down on those of us who aren't as ambitious. We just want to be happy, same as you, though we might find our happiness in different places. I'll try not to look down on you either; I'm working hard to cut it out with my habit of haughty pretention.

love: revisited.

I don't know if it really matters what it is. And whatever people may think it is, I don't know if it needs a word to bind it. I don't think four letters should jail the things we feel. I still don't know anything; I just think sometimes.

i don't know anything though.

"What is love?"

Her question prompts singing, but as the tired joke subsides, I hold a breath inside my lungs along with her query.

My hands cover my eyes, like a mask, like the hunters' mud paint in Lord of the Flies. This is how I say anything important, with my gaze drawn away from the glances of others; I stare at the ground, I talk through a phone, I hide my face. Today, I'm just blocking the sun, though. The grass pricks at the back of my neck and I press my tongue to my teeth for several seconds.

The truth is, I have no solid personal concept of conventional love. I think I love her. But that doesn't seem to be the right answer this time. That's probably never the right answer. It wouldn't come across properly anyway. I love her like I love a kitten. That's not what we're talking about. I'm not even sure if that's love. I don't know what that is, but I'm pretty certain that's just not the right thing to say here.

I mumble something about love being defined by one's own experiences and concepts, like it can't be restricted to one, simple definition. For some, love is not simple. I don't know though. I love kittens. That's pretty simple. I guess that's not love love. Like loooove. Is that what we're talking about?

Sex, kissing, holding hands? Are those important parts of love? I mean, I don't see why they should be. I don't think people need to do those things to love someone. And people can do those things without having any love in them. Friends can-- Wait, I'm getting weird again. I keep my mouth shut. I'm cool with losing personal bubbles, it doesn't really make a difference to me. But that's just because it's me, I think. Yah, that's definitely a me thing.

I've told people I loved them. I think I meant it sometimes... But I don't really know what I meant to mean. I doubt our loves ever mean the same exact thing. I love him like ice cream, and her like summer nights, and him like fictional characters, and you like kittens. 

I feel like there are ants on me, so I shift. There aren't ants on me. I'm looking up at the tree branches through the holes I've opened in my mask. The conversation is over, but the question doesn't go away.

I dwell on it further and think of the people I've deceived with my fluctuating definitions of love. Romantic love and platonic love... Everything feels the same to me. I just want to... Yknow, snuggle everyone. Is that okay, too? That's love too. I think so. 

Aw man, I don't even know anymore. This question is hard.

But if love is the sensation and feeling I get on days like these, I guess it's okay.

I dunno.

Hm.

if we ordered our futures from catalogs:

Beneath his fingertips the paper slides, thin and smooth. He peruses the pictures of respectable looking folks. They've got Rolex timepieces and purebred dogs, proper looking preschoolers and french-door refrigerators. They possess style, the paradoxically subtle panache delivered by their soft smirks, slick hair, scarcely-seen charcoal socks. He too, possesses style.

He's all class, a man with a subdued and sensible taste in neckties. And a nice little spinning rack to keep them on, too, his personal color-coded rainbow twirling greyish-scarlet to greyish-aubergine. He's a man who knows where his shoe-polish is. In the morning, he drinks espresso at his bistro table. Ironic mugs with snappy phrases on them? Not for this guy. Tacky. That's not how he rolls. He's all about class. Upper middle class.

As a businessman, he takes pride in his trade. He's overqualified and still in debt to his alma mater. But he's got a briefcase. It's classy. Lots of classy men are businessmen, just look at the catalog.

Back when he was young and foolish, he might have been drawn to the photos tucked away in the back, hidden between advertisements. That's where they put the "alternative lifestyles." Starving artist? Not him. He was fit and healthy. He wasted no time on pursuits of frivolous creativity. He was a businessman. He was a classy businessman with a Rolex timepiece and an expensive espresso maker.

He was happy.

He was happy, right?

and also my pants are lame.

My life is kind of this cycle of me being sort of cool and then making a fool out of myself.
I am a merry-go-round to fun-town.
That's a lie.
I'm pretty much awful.

What even happened.

I don't think you understand; you make me feel like I'm going to barf up my heart.

obviously this has been eating at me.

You always tell me it will be okay. You tell me that when I'm worried about you or when I'm sad. You tell me it'll be okay. I'll be okay. The world will be okay. That's always your cure-all phrase. "You'll be okay." I'm trying to tell you the same thing now, so you can't actually be upset with me. Well you can be. But don't be.

Actually. It's not even that it will be okay.

It is  okay. Already. Presently. Nothing is not okay except for your emotions over the seeming un-okay-ness of things that seem pretty okay to me. I can't see what seems to be wrong, and you can't put into words what seems to be wrong. So what's wrong? Is anything wrong? Because it all looks pretty okay. I mean. I don't know. Isn't it?

I was even being nice. Like really nice, I think. I really was trying. Trying to understand or help. Assist. Listen. Anything.

It's not like I'm gonna be like "OH YAH YOU ARE FAIL." Because that's not even close to true. At all. So far from truth. LIES. That would be mean and rude and terrible to say!!

So. Just. I was trying to cheer you up by saying true, nice things, okay? I like you and you're great and it's sad that you're sad. I'm sad that you're sad and I can't do anything.

I'm a bit lost, because, well... You tell me it's all sucky but not why it's all sucky. So I'm confused and guessing.

Or maybe you don't want to even talk about it. I guess that makes sense too. And I just. Cues. I'm. Slow. And dumb. I'm like. A big, happy, dumb bear. Who wants to give you ice cream. And make things okay. I'm like "Roar?" In my friendly dumb bear voice. And I sit on a mossy log with my pint of cake ice cream and wait for you to spin your yarns. But maybe you don't want to knit an expositional sweater for my dumb bear ears. And I'm just like "Roarawr?" all the same.

You know, like, you could've asked me to like, fuck off, or just something. Or come over if you didn't want me to fuck off. I can't understand this middle-of-the-road thing. I can't tell what you want. Or need. Or wish you had. I don't know anything. I don't understand people. I'm not good. With the social. And the words.

But.

Well.

Whatever.

I'm sorry.

aslkdgkjf;jglkad

Roar?

ugh i was over that.

Sometimes when you text me, there might maybe be some butterflies.

I'll just stick with the original theory that I'm like a really excitable puppy, and I've been left home alone all day, and now look!! FRIENDS!!!!1!!

silly, i know.

She's got sweaters to keep her warm when she's alone, but a den full of boots and cloth will not be called home. 

We don't need to tie ourselves together with words like "I do" to avoid being alone, do we? Husbands, boyfriends, girlfriends, wives... Things aren't fitting together like they should; why is everyone so sure that's the only way it can be? Can you just relax, stop trying so hard? You're not going to be alone.

Can't we all hold hands, share beds, whisper secrets, borrow shirts, strum guitars, kiss cheeks, drink tea, find happiness together? Maybe it's not conventional, but... We aren't all conventional sorts of people. Isn't it fine just to like each other and stick around? Collect friends, roommates, bros, companions, good times?

Let's make a band and lots of bad decisions. I most like nights like yesterday's night. 

adslgdjkls;dffkdj.

I don't know how I'm supposed to respond to this. I'm mostly just mad at myself. For not being understanding, mostly. I'm being a bad person, I know that.

It feels like my stomach and heart and everything inside wants to escape up my throat.

... I hate feelings. So do my guts.

I'm afraid that one day, feelings are gonna ruin everything. I wish I could be more tactful when I'm upset, but instead I'm kind of just flailing here. It's sort of unattractive, I know.

Bluh! I don't understand what... people... how... Moo. 

humility and i.

Oh. Ouch, took that one right in the pride.

I respectfully disagree with the idea that I should feel morally obligated to support or boycott the entirety of a business because of a CEO's comments on an issue entirely unrelated to chicken sandwiches.

I don't eat there anyway. But still. ... It just seems childish.

Chances are, wherever you eat/go/spend money/whatever you're probably supporting someone against gay marriage and someone for marriage equality and someone who believes in more than one god and someone who believes in no god and someone who has tattoos of naked ladies and someone who's a vegetarian because they believe animals have souls...

Point is, not everyone on Earth will fit in your belief box, alright? That should have very little to do with Oreos or chicken sandwiches or how you treat people. Overreacting, ganging up, freaking out only turns real issues to bandwagons. And also makes everyone look like assholes dumb-butts.

I just. Jksl;afdkljgf;lkfjs. I don't get it.

And then she figured she probably shouldn't say something like that on Facebook, despite her mounting desire to do so.


And then after that, she noticed she had feet and considered the immense value of that reality.

I'm sorry, I wish I could fix the sad.
... *pets your face*
...
I don't know.