I’d go home and jerk off but…

it's truly a lie - J.Homme
I’m as lame as the fabric in my 26yo college sweatshirt
I’m a giant drip
I have nothing to give
I don’t even know if I have enough words

Can’t finish a thought
Can barely maintain a fantasy
I get two days in and I’m disappointed

Masturbation is exercise for the terminally bored
Internet matchmaking has failed me
I don’t even think the girl in my pictures is paying attention and fell
asleep
oh my god
should I take up calligraphy?

im too tired for capitalization and punctuation
Fuck you, space bar.
I don’t even think I can drink anymore
It makes me think I should so that i won’t get a headache.
That’s no fun on a school night

So much time with my thumbs on flickering glass
Instead of saying something longer than a character count
I’m too tired
My job and the way to get to and from
Takes all my brains
I leave them spread out across a university campus
Higher learning for someone else, not me
I study spit trails on the sidewalk

Writing (or waiting, pick a letter) with one eye cracked open because consciousness is a luxury
Where are you superman?
someone?
A voice in my head just uttered
“I think youre a reasonable girl” and then something punitive
I forget that part
but it got in.
The voice inside that wont let you anything

time to charge the company battery
maybe try again to feel the longing on the way to dreamworld
rockstar boyfriends
go on tour and bring the kid
in my dreams, my flesh and blood is with me in a better life
that’s a good start
but maybe I need to be living the dream
instead of wishing for it to come via pillows and down
i wish i wish i wish
I deserved
i deserve?

someone else I know just said I’m my own person
tell her to go to sleep before she writes over all this
she’s no fan of doubt at this age
she’d like the steadiness of an easy commute and a good meal
I keep trying to make her
Me
Which one of us has the keys?

 

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kindoff├╝kkensad


he hated Ikea
once yelled at the customer service reps like they themselves made the furniture to fuck with him
he didnt care about clothes
wore suits until they were threadbare
didnt care about style
wore old man white reebok sneakers
dress loafers from 1985
he hated shopping with me
unless i was buying sex toys
lingerie
he hated crowds and people
traffic
waiters
someone owing a penny at the front of the checkout line
it wasnt fun in public with him
it wasn’t a life

i stand surrounded by white walls
factory ceilings
rows and rows of thigs and thorgs
couples
families
shopping for more
stuff to fill the bigger and bigger holes
together
no fighting
i dont remember what that looked like
because it never was
unless i was talking sex
fanning and/or tending angry man fires

A smartly outfitted young husband
will stop wearing the beanie in 6 months after his friends all stop
maybe the pretty blond wife will buy him a cool new band tee shirt just because
and he’ll kiss her
because she gets it
hes not angry
he waits in line with her
he doesnt yell at strangers
he’s a real man maybe
it breaks my heart what i chose to marry

i was lonely then
and im lonely now
i’m the angry one
noticing my furrowed brows in the bathroom sinkefarnen display
wrinkles set in waning rage

i wasted so much
to get back so little
while all of these people were finding eachother
in their cute shoes and hats
with their cute kids
holding hands

shiny new glass full of promise
reflecting back at me
just left with lonely, shame-laden and painful memory
trauma from that kind of mismatch is longlasting

even a kindly home store from across the Atlantic
can’t smooth out the wrinkles
or tidy up the mess
or supply extra wood pegs and allen wrenches
to fix this cracked and defective tender soul

i am as-is now
damaged and worn
but somehow still functional
whoever stumbles across me in this leftover state
should have been waiting patiently
better have a need for something less than brand new
better be glad he wasnt the first to unwrap me
better have a place at home
i’m the last one left
i’m no longer for show

A Different Kind of Tension


Single thought on blast:
“Oh my GOD I’m so horny.”
Who can I share that with?
It’s not like:
“I need chocolate”
Someone’s always got a stash

I miss having a partner in crime
Someone to tell this most private sensation
Someone who might get a rise
Want to help
Might offer to mix fluids with mine

I have so much energy in this realm
More than most
Even at this age
I have more and more
Sad that it sits inside me, unused
Seems like such a shame

I can blame hormones
I’m a cyclical organism afterall
It might pass in a few hours
But for now its brutal
And I’m at a workplace
Infected with lust
and alone