kindoffükkensad


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

Longing in song

When a melody does the work so I don’t have to try to say how I feel…

Christian Brothers (written and originally performed by Elliott Smith)

No bad dream fucker’s going to boss me around
Christian Brothers gonna take him down
But it can’t help me get over
Don’t be cross, it’s sick I want
I’ve seen the boss blink on and off

Fake concerns is what’s the matter, man
And you think I ought to shake
Your motherfucking hand
Well, I know how much you care
Don’t be cross, it’s sick I want
I’ve seen the boss blink on and off

Come here by me, I want you here
Nightmares become me, it’s so fucking clear

Don’t be cross, it’s sick I want
I’ve seen the boss blink on and off
Come here by me, I want you here
Nightmares become me, it’s so fucking clear
Nightmares become me, it’s so fucking clear

Nine Years

9years
He called me Pretty Girl
Almost had me right away with just the written words
How ever did we find each other
Some online stranger-finding service

He wore jeans and a dark shirt
I approached him at the bar
As he sat nursing some whiskey drink
Legs slightly open
Like a man sits
I remember that moment
Because he spoke to me
Like I was human
Even though I was a sexual being
A strange woman
I think I touched his thigh
And he held my hand
It could have happened
He liked to touch me

And there was a sweetness
Oh my god
He was so sweet, almost awkward
Not a seducer
Or the best there ever was
We flirted
We kissed in my car that first time
It wasn’t the best kiss
But it was more than a kiss
It was him
Unassuming, no expectations
His soft, sad eyes
His stature and size
His voice was deep and warm
And his smile

It was nine years ago
Trauma marriage, my son just out of diapers
Separated and alone
I was trying to break free
Trying to become something more
I had friends and support and potential
But I was broken

And my strongest recollection

I remember HIM
nine years ago
And frozen moments from inside
a barely occupied corner apartment on a 3rd floor

How he picked me up like his bride and carried me to my bed

How he held me down while he made love to me
Wondered out loud if I would be afraid of him
And it made me want him more
I’ve never fallen so fast
For anyone
Ever
I felt like I could have died in his arms
And it would have been right

How we sat on my bed and talked about our similar lives
I felt like he was my kind

How I cried on the floor when he left to go home to a sad household
How he took some part of me away when he said goodnight

This man who would be inside me
Who would kiss me in the empty parking lot of a public place
A mere two miles from both of our families
Kiss me and mark me forever
The blueprint for the kiss that almost got me in deep with a devil redhead

Nine years ago
I’ve never been the same

And it doesn’t end

I still see him in passing
I still see him in that parking lot

His body
and mouth
and voice
and self
Live less than a quarter of a mile away from my beating heart
Every day of the last four years

I do nothing
But my heart does
It stops on any given encounter in the supermarket or gas station

I felt like he loved me
I’ll never understand why

I felt so connected to him
Yet seeing him makes me silent
I walk right by
Holding tears and joy and memories and sorry

Nine years ago
He was drinking then
He was experimenting with men
Maybe I was a sparkly oasis in a sea of calamity
Maybe I was a soft and pretty place to land
But just a mirage
From disease
Maybe I was just as chaotic
But I didn’t feel that with him
I didn’t feel crazy
I just felt everything

We were supposed to have coffee when he got sober
We never did
I was trying to be sober too
To steer clear of the magnet that was him
Today I would go anywhere he asked

So we are “strangers”
We play that role
But nothing was ever stranger
Than having to deny
Over and over
That I know how he feels and breathes and sounds and tastes
And that my sick little heart still breaks
And aches to hear him
Or anyone so dear and lovely
call me Pretty Girl