2003-11-28 - 10:10 p.m.

i'm writing

i'm writing

i'm writing to tell you i have nothing to say.

it's snowing outside and i hate it. i only hate it because it gets on the roads and traps me inside my own house not allowing me to leave. i want to be snowed in somewhere once. somewhere not here. not the place i've grown up in. not with the people who've watched me grow.

today i was a murderer.

today i was a liar.

today i was a lover.

today i inflicted pain upon myself and it jarred my teeth.

i have to type quietly. but it's just like anything you try to do quietly - it can't be done. you will always be loud in a library, you will always wake the sleeping baby. my brain goes too fast for my fingers, though i consider myself to be fairly fast at typing. my brain goes too fast for my mouth, but i'd rather not talk.

he had a lot to say. he had a lot of nothing to say.

sometimes i forget to breath. breathing is involuntary, but when i think about my breathing patterns, i forget to inhale. exhale. when i'm beside him, i listen to him breathing. when i'm beside him, i think about how lucky i am. how i enjoy when he's laying on his back and i can curl up into his side and feel his arm go around me and feel safe and protected and content.

he doesn't know how beautiful he really is. inside /// his mother told me he has a good heart. and i agreed. and outside /// i wish he would see in the mirror what i see when i look at him. the image you have of yourself and the image you see in the mirror are different. if i looked like what i thought i looked like in my head. i don't know how to finish that sentence. pictures are misleading, mirrors are misleading.

i don't know where i'm headed.

unfinished sentences and unfinished thoughts.

i amfrustrating.

i am frustrated.

when asked what i want for christmas, all i can list are things i can't have. i hate being on the receiving end of gifts. it's embarassing i think.

i don't like holidays anymore. it means family time. my family is made up of brainwashed people and creeps. there's nothing loving about family gatherings anymore. it's glaring and people split up into different groups in different rooms. it's eating in different rooms, no eye contact no speaking. warmer outside in the winter air than inside. it's watching to make sure no one steals your money while you're eating. there's no such thing as family here anymore.

and that turkey made me sick.

things are getting scary. things are getting worse. my only comfort is knowing that at least i am still capable of loving and knowing that i'm loved in return.

fingers turning yellow.

lungs turning black.

body is a temple and mine is on fire.

on the news, something in the house caught fire and the mother ran outside, forgetting her child. every man for himself. not even your mother cares for you.

we are fecal.

i don't mean that.

there's always an exception.

kill them with kindness

the customer is always right

but that's bullshit. if you are unkind to me, i'll be unkind to you. the customer just thinks they're right. employee #2307 is always right.

black ink on my skin.

covered in black check stamp ink.

i can see every pore and crease and orifice in my skin.

a pattern as intricate as a spiderweb

i am unique i am special

there's only one erinelizabeth

but that's not comforting at all.

there's nothing to say

nothing to see here

i'm just typing to be typing.

you were welcome to stop reading a long time ago.

i think i'll sleep well tonight.

prev */* next