SSDGM

I still have insomnia.  It's that magical time of year in Austin where everything is covered with a thick green blanket of oak pollen, so I lie awake and cough and sniffle and think about what could have been and what shouldn't have and what will be.

The world is a goddamn mess right now.  Everything is terrible.  I try to not let myself spend too much time on Twitter because the world is depressing.  It's very clear to me how exhausted everyone is of fighting for every single inch of progress.  We're so tired that we're handing the fight over to children.

So I've been trying my darnedest to enjoy the little things.  Watching a lot of Jeopardy, because it reminds me of the intelligence still left in humanity.  I've been watching a lot of makeup tutorials on YouTube to remind myself of the beauty.  Listening to a lot of murder podcasts, well, because I like murder podcasts.  Not everything has to have a deeper meaning.  Sometimes you just play Skyrim because smithing a hundred iron daggers is satisfying.

This next piece is about a boy.  Yes, there is a boy.  It's complicated, but so is life.  I told him I was a broken person, and he said he wanted to fill up all of the cracks with gold.  I've never written anything nice about a boy before, so I'm not sure this is any good.  The only critique I got was that it was degrading to call myself a hot piece of ass, but I left it in because I think I wanted that part to be a little crude.  Also: because I'm a goddamn hot piece of ass.

Burning Houses

I love him.
I love the serpentine way he slithers when he's moving closer to me.
I love the shock and terror and awe and pain and moonstruck look in his eyes.
I love the way his body fits next to mine, inside of mine, on top of mine.
I love the wit. The way he makes me laugh until my ribs burst open spilling my crimson juices onto the carpet. The way he anticipates my overthinking nature and slides a cooling balm onto all my fears. The knife point intellect, the razor’s edge that cuts into my skin.
I love the gentle. His soft fingertips lingering at my hairline, the patient kisses in the dark. He wraps me up and protects me from the world and introduces me to the world and embraces the world and shows me off to the world like the hot piece of ass I am.
I love the calm. Long slow days of open windows and stolen stares because glances aren't enough.
I love the storm before the calm. Hot and wet and fast and hard and complicated and twisted and perfect.
I love him because he is perfect.
I love him because he is not perfect.
I love him because he makes me perfect.

Perchance

Hello loves.

I've had some crazy fucking insomnia lately. And before you start, well-meaning internet, yes I've tried all of the things. Whatever things you want to suggest, I've tried them. Melatonin puts me to sleep, but messes with my hormones. Also, when I take melatonin I don't wake up normally; I wake up gasping for air. Which is pretty fucking scary.  Also I wake up on my back with my arms crossed over my chest like a god damn vampire.

Have I ever told you guys my theory on dreams?  I think we as humans exist on the precipice of two dimensions, one we're in when awake, and one we're in when asleep.  Both worlds equally real.  That world just has different laws of physics than this one.  People can die and come back, flowers can bloom into tiny dragons, I can fly.  It took me years to learn to fly over there.  First it was just one foot up.  Then all you have to do is pick up the other one.  Then you can soar.

I can't sleep because the winds are changing.  Not like, literally, but in the Mary Poppins sense.  My life is moving in weird ways that I can't predict.  And that's always terrifying.  Losing control over things is the worst feeling for me, and things are CHANGING.  I need to get back into school now that my health is in a good swing.  I need to have structure.

I wrote today's piece a few weeks ago, and like a real dumbass, I forgot why I started this blog, and posted it on my social media.  It's about ...like when you've been mulling over a problem for years and it finally breaks free, and then a million little things break free and suddenly you can see light again.  And it's gonna be REAL easy for you assholes to think I'm just subtweeting a boy on this one.  I don't blame you, most of these have been about boys.  But this one's on me, trying to climb out of my hermit hole and see the sun again. Remembering how to smile and feel joy.  Remembering I'm alive.

It's also untitled, because I'm fucking tired and I can't think of one.  Eat me.

I feel the electric pins and needles of a limb waking up inside my chest
Like hibernation
No, sleep is not the right word
There isn’t a right word.
There definitely isn’t a right word for the part of me that is firing again.
Not my heart, or my emotions, or my sex drive, or my soul.
The part of me that is alive.
There definitely isn't a right word for the light behind my eyes, the spring in my step, the pain that's been so cleverly concealed
For so long
There isn't a right word for what I've done to that part of me.
Kidnapped and blindfolded.
Held hostage in a dark basement full of leaves.
Self sabotaged the very self.
Why am I punishing myself?
What did I do that was so abhorrent that I needed ten years of solitude?
Ten years of cold
Ten years of lashes on my back paying penance for a crime I can’t recall.
There isn’t a word for the damage I’ve done, for the time I’ve wasted, for the walls I’ve made out of reinforced steel.
There isn’t a word for this reawakening, because I haven’t been asleep.
I’ve been trapped.
There isn’t a word for how I feel now.  Anxious, lonely, heart percussing on my ribcage.
Ready?

No, that somehow isn’t right.