sacrilegious nonsense, and also swearing. (the usual.)

I was raised right. My parents set me up, first class tickets to Heaven, bought at their expense and handed to me on a silver platter; I didn't know suffering! I thought God was beautiful, my beautiful friend. I never heard his voice, but they told me he loved me. What kid doesn't believe in the love of those who seem so much bigger than them? 

But now that I'm big, too, I realize how small we are. I realize that sometimes, love is just a word we use to make ourselves feel better. 

Now I see what this religion has bred. Misogyny, racism, prejudice, hatred, bloodshed, pain. It's not God's fault though, right? "It's the fault of this human sin!"

God made humans, God made everything, God made it imperfect. It was good? Good enough. But not perfect. How could it not be his fault? Surely the ALL-POWERFUL GOD OF THE UNIVERSE was capable of making something that wouldn't shatter after a few days of running around naked and wonderful.

I am small! I am tiny! And the tragedies of this world are strapped onto my back?

Following God never made me happy. I realize the point isn't to be happy. But if it feels all wrong, how can it be right? What about conscience, what about our natural compass? I feel one way, they tell me I'm wrong.

The needle spins and spins and spins!

But I have no conscience, I guess. My queer lust and confusion threw it off a year ago, right? I'm just too gay to see straight. I'm just too liberal to be intelligent. 

I'm just so fucking fucked up and it's all my fucking fault!

... Honestly, I don't want someone to blame for that, for how fucked up I am. I don't think I'm all that bad, definitely not evil. Sure, I've got my flaws but I also like myself a lot and I'm alright.

I am small and I am tiny but I've tried to fit the universe inside my skull. And no matter how hard I look, I see no Christian God, I see no place for him, or his holy book, or his preachers, or his pretend perfection, or his claims to justice. 

I'm not saying it's wrong to believe in things, I just don't like it when your beliefs try to force me into compliance as well.

I like girls and profanity and Panic! at the Disco.

Stop telling me to pray, I'd rather go to Hell.

i wrote this a while ago, it's still hard sometimes.

smoke and colours filled our sky. and light! and noise so loud, i couldn't feel my heartbeat like i usually do; i couldn't feel the bass of our bodies, the dissonance we create when we almost touch. i curled my toes into the grass.
i'm all powder, shoved into cardboard, lit on fire, and shot into the dark.
and something chokes off my words and my breath and i'm left burnt out and empty and tired, trash on the lawn in the morning, crumpled and charred, paper tubes and ashy rings on the asphalt.
likes me not, likes me not--
all the daisies echo.
but i only wanted to scoot closer and touch your fingers.
just to see how it'd feel.

my how you've grown.

How much longer
Until we're all fixed up?
Until we're right?
All together
With our normality
Or scarless bodies
Or thoughtlessness
Or contentment
Or tiny universes
Or mature relationships.
Adults!
For benefit of the illustration,
I'm an aged man, unable to change,
Covered in my old wounds,
And set in my stubborn ways.
There are graves waiting for people like me.
I'm a child who refuses to understand,
Certain that this world is centered at my feet,
Not bothering with conventional things.
There are long-winded lectures waiting for people like me.
I don't know if I'm capable of fitting between,
I don't know if I want to be.
... Though sometimes it gets lonesome.

sort of objectively speaking.

"Alright, so I've finished letting this set in, here's my final word. He was kind of harsh and you're kind of sensitive. Neither of you was entirely right or entirely wrong. But that's the thing--a lot of shit is grey. His opinion, your opinion, my opinion of something is only a part of the truth. And a part of the lies. Both. None of us can see everything... So what if you don't agree? You don't need to. If he's so angry, he can choose to get over it or go. If you don't like things about him, same to you."

On an emotional and personal level, dropping my attempt to be unbiased (Which, note, is impossible, we all believe things, we all have bias, everything I said was biased towards my opinions that everything I said was true. Complicated, hm?), I still side with her original stance.

I just feel sort of sad that she feels stupid or would doubt her opinions just because he's ranting, same as she was. The entirety of "them" as in them together just makes me bothered and annoyed more often than anything else.

no to normalcy, really.

I am perfectly happy, I am perfectly sad. I desperately want things I can't have. I talk back too much, I keep my mouth shut too often. I want to be boyish today, I don't care tomorrow. I'm always over-thinking, I don't take anything seriously enough.

Again, I am contradictions. I no longer make sense to mother.

I will change bits by bits, inevitably, but I think I'm fine like this. Imperfect, of course. But alright.

And I can't change too much and still feel like me. I won't let things pass me by for the sake of a "secure life." I'll examine the little things, like sketches and kittens, and the big things, like the universe and abstract thinking. I can't be a wife or mom, I'm most certainly unfit. And I don't want that, anyway, could everyone kindly stop trying to convince me that they know better?

Exploration, stillness, imagination, observation, creation, dissection, cacophony, silence, colors, greyscale, everything, nothing.

I'm a product of opposing forces! I want to be a cynic, scream "eff it all!" but I want to be a lover and hold onto you all. I want to keep the ones I like around to join me in my solitude. I want to bleed colors and see greys.

Hey, I'm not the first to despise the average, and I'm not the only one.

My friend from jr. high is going shopping for a wedding dress tomorrow. And my pretentious attitude is creeping up again! Because face it, I think I know best, for some reason. I just feel like they'd get it if they could see things the way we see them... Stop!

It's difficult to explain it, the words aren't working well right now. Or I'm just as confused as the rest. Both. Neither. Everything. Nothing.

Nights like these. (These rare nights where I can't find sleep, I curl up pantsless in my nest, my hair a wreck, my thoughts on everything unimportant...) Nights like these, I just want to be honest. Honestly, I want to cuddle the crap out of everyone. I want to cuddle them so hard. And also show them some sense/nonsense/whatever.

This is a dumb post. Go to sleep.

bluntly put, the anxiety is going to get me killed.

And cliches tickle my nose-- 

thin, dusty, beautiful, 

butterfly-winged cliches,

that have swirled about my stomach

and brushed my heart 

with hurried, unbearable flitting.

See, this is a stupid metaphor. 

And I'd really like to sneeze all these fucked up feelings out.

I'd just really like to feel steady again.