well, that's a dream

i saw it, pale

in comparison to everything i had hoped it'd be.

short, fallen, empty

dripping down the chosen path

i regretted immediately.

my fingers reached out, gripping

or attempting to, by the by,

to take what ever scraps of falsified reality remained

tangible for the feeble mind that

lingered in my shell of life.

--

chairs.

there were so many goddamn chairs everywhere.

that's what i remember.

ever notice you remember the strangest things?

sixty. had to be. or close to.

there were maybe six turned over.

another one was broken.

dust was everywhere.

i don't even know why i was there.

(letsbehonestnoonecaresaboutadelusionalgirlwithadreamandawishandadeepbreathandahopethathe'dbethere,waiting)

he wasn't there. but he

he was.

he was cold, sitting in one of the chairs.

and he stared at me.

from that goddamn chair.

it was green. rusted, and i swear

if he weighed any heavier

it'd have collapsed under the sheer duress of pressure

other than gravity.

i wanted to run, weave around chairs

crash into his arms and find something other than the linger of her soap on his shoulders.

but did i?

i cried. dropped to my knees, felt them buckle with a weight i thought my heart

had released

earlier.

(itobviouslyhadntwhyelsewasitherecryingforhimtoseeandnotsee)

all i remembered was fingers

fingers in hair and kisses and breathing and he stared at me, unblinking

un-fucking-moving.

i was just kneeling there

face in hands

ugly as all, crying until my head pounded

and my heart stopped beating.

i hope to god he's finally happy.

--

^--- none of that has anything to do with my life, presently. sorry for any confusion. i've had this aching need to write lately, and i'm feeling a little... compressed. it's difficult finding the inspiration i used to find, and now i'm just dealing with things i don't think ever really worked together to begin with. like my life, writing, living, working part time and being a half-way decent human being.

tentative. free. space. absolute. atrocious. optometry. kisses. noses. fists. holes. walls. toes. alphabet soup. why, why, why.

i'm not in my right mind, i can't sleep, and i really just wish i could curl up in someone's arms right now so i can feel safe. i like to feel safe. i... kind of need to feel safe. protected. i need to feel as though nothing else is going to go wrong anymore. that i won't be left in the dark, hanging on the words of things that i had no say in the matter of producing.

i'll... think. too much. for myself.

dear you,

i don't know who you are.

but i wish you were here.

-aleey

ps. i'm not depressed. jeesus, do i sound it? i must. i'm just trying to cope with feeling at odds with my life (which really... isn't terrible.)

thirteenseconds poem and why life

thirteenseconds
she was quiet, oh so quiet
don't say it, don't be it, don't breathe it
she was quiet... so quiet.
thirteenseconds
of time passed and it was just enough
just enough of a thought
and after thought
and inner though and outer thought and
fucking fear and suddenly
you're too goddamn scared all the goddamn time
she says
she says it so loud i can't hear it anymore
all i hear is her voice
and i quiver
thirteenseconds
of my fucking fears
growing deep in the pit of my stomach
a mistake so quick so fast so horrible
damnit, damnit, damnit, damnitdamnitdamnit
my dreams melting down into those
cracks
fucking fear cracks, that's what they are
cracks of fear crinkling over my
subconscious
and my skeleton quivers
my fucking bones
marrow and tendons and ligaments and
everything makes me feel sick to my stomach
she laughs, smiles, laughs, says things
lots of things
i don't hear them
i can't hear them
they're in her voice
and it kills me that it's not to me
she's saying so many things
too many things, too many things and too many more things
thirteenseconds
was my goodbye, fucking goodbye
in less than half of half of a minute
and watching i remember why
and why not
and who and who not
no, no more, no thanks
skinskinskinskinskin on more skin
smooth and soft and warm but
so far, not mine
not mine
just
thirteenseconds.

yeah, in a mood folks. work was sort of... whatever. hobbit visited with frito, and that was nice, i don't get to see either of them enough. and there was some talk of them getting me drunk off my ass sometime soon. and that's not good. i do stupid shit when i'm drunk... and god knows i'm a moron half the world's time as is, i don't need to keep giving myself more chances to make dumb mistakes.

are there smart mistakes? i know there are "happy accidents" (aka children).

my head hurts. there's someone i'm missing terribly, but i can't be obvious, because every time that i'm too obvious and weird, i drive people away. and i don't want to drive anyone else away, i just want to be happy and feel happy, so i'm kicking myself for thinking i'm not, cause i am.

i just feel like a failure. everyone keeps saying go to school, go to school, get your degree and i get it, i left school for a bit, i need that break. i get it. it wasn't too smart. but no one's perfect. i hate feeling like i'm not good enough. and with my dad at dinner saying all of those "both of my kids could get a's, if they tried, but they're both so goal-less, they don't have the drive" thanks i get it, i don't have the drive i get it i know i know i know i know i fucking know that i'm nothing in this world these days. it makes sense, too, i think. feeling like a failure. but i don't unless other people seem disappointed.

i, as myself, in myself, with myself, don't feel like a failure. i feel like a fucking twenty-one year old who is taking her goddamn time doing everything she can to be happy, going at my own pace. i could still graduate before i'm even twenty-three if i really wanted to, be on my way to grad school and the like if i get some grades tricked around. i could also not go back to school and slum around broadway for a job as an extra hand or a stage hand or a stage manager. but what i really want to do is open a cafe and have conversations with people who disagree with america's display of capitalism and who read literature and who love oscar wilde and kafka and hume in his weird way and enjoy listening to other people read poetry and stories and sing songs and strum on guitar strongs that are going to break.

why can't life be where it should be at all times, instead of stuck in different states around the country.

why.

visiting dave tomorrow... which is going to be interesting. it'll be the first time i hang out with him since i've, y'know, officially moved on in a way. it doesn't help that i'm going to be there, wishing he were a someone in a someplace with some kind of dark curly hair. but am i just thinking too much in my box again? always,always,always with my commas and my punctuation.

i think i really miss vernon, too, because he always gives the best hugs and the biggest smiles and does this head-cocked-to-the-side thing whenever he's impersonating me, and god he knows me better than anyone when it comes to my insides. he reads my heart like a third-grade girl reads nancy drew in a haste to be a sleuth herself.

dreaming of a body next to me, but not enough to let it control me.

unrelated: the gorillaz really are awesome. every time a new song of theirs pops up on my ipod i'm just like "wow... i keep forgetting how good these guys really are."

like "12d3." which is my favorite right now, followed closely by "latin simone" and some song about sunshine in a bag.

going back to reading... might try to write a story or five. have work at seven tomorrow.

movement from this comfortable bed isn't an option. sorry. unless you love me enough to kiss my forehead.

then maybe i'll move. maybemaybemaybe.

-aleey.