The Muse

I’m thinking bout the girl. The one I crave attention from, the one my thoughts ramble on about and meander the merry-go-round of affection.
She said she read my blog. Does she really think it’s good? Does she think I’m smart? What interest did she have in the machinations of mine mind?
Love me like me, applause applause. Pause. How full of myself can I really get? You have a personal blog jackass where you expect kudos and adoration. You think you aren’t one of the fevered egos blazing at the speed of 15 minutes?
Ah but I give something of substance, whatever may be said it is a creation of a kind. A little poetry, a little levity, something to take edges off these jagged little pills. The artsy tree blooms while my sanity dips.
Lithe little swimmer torpedoing about. Golly gee guppy gnoshing tender morsels by the muse. It’s been awhile since I had one. The exhilaration, the rush that flows in these veins from the pretty flower of my life.
I cannot get attached. I have seen the cards with this one and it seems not meant to be, though maybe that’s the coward pushing everything away. Happiness a dull dream I do not take upon myself. But the attachment, the longing, the feelings that crash into the reality of the situation.
What pain I am left with when they all move on. I hate it but I must embrace it nonetheless. Steppin through like a soldier with a x upon my chest.

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Gut Feeling

I wonder if repression has some kind of physical affliction, some metabolical aftermath. Like I have have a Katamari Damacy ball of gayness soaking up stomach acid in my tum tum. Whenever I don’t embrace the femme side of me it grows and staggers in this self-induced homophobic prison I have created from fear of parental rejection and dumbass society and comments from regular dudes. This inescapable, internal, infernal, fear gripping me with the vice-like grip of a deathclaw (not the one you get toys and prizes with). I am forever searching for myself yet I am never truly accepting myself as I am, the whole of me. As if I’m unpacking an empty box and weighing it on the scales of life. Existentialism for the half-hearted. The cowardly dog sniffing out courage pieces at a time. Bacon bits of bravery satisfying inner turmoil knots.

Love Lump

I just want to hug and squeeze something until all the love is sapped out of me. Lenny something to death. Pour out all my weepy droopy emotions onto a living, breathing pillow. That human need for closeness and connection just expunged from the body as blood flowing out of organs. Just a reverse sadness black hole pulsing with sorrow capitulations. Is that right? I don’t even know, I’m traversing my mind searching for the right words to just…expel all these junk feelings from my mental inbox. It’s so sappy and sugary like pancake drippings on a blank plate. When I’m buttered up it’s all good and I can escape the emo teen dragging feet inside the thumping chest, lovely moments of sunny ambitious reverie. Lachrymose ticks are shunned away from my timepiece and I live, oh how I live and breathe the sweet nectared air of hummingbird freedom. Spreading lively life wings into the wonder of a peaceful moment, funtime dropbox unfurling cardboard dreams into clean and sober monosphere. Just a soft dream with a right-by-my-side pillow.