Saturday, March 19, 2011

Hi Mom, Mother, Ma:

I love you because I don't have to.
I love you because you're forgiving.
I love you because you're smarter than me.
I love you because I can't think of anyone better.
I love you because you've been honest with me.
I love you because you loved me when I wasn't honest with you.
I love you because I'm secure, do you love me?

because maybe 02/08/2011

I don't know where i stand
It's not exactly how i planned
for things to go right
i am different by day
and indifferent at night

So perfectly flawed: December 06, 2010 (4:43pm)

 Loneliness is being alone. Tasting solitude and annoying yourself beyond any belief that there are other people out there because it is only your mind that confines itself with itself. A terrible mix of who you are alone compared against what you might think you are with others. Being lost isn’t nearly as hallow as you’d think, it gives you the opportunity to be found…not by others, which isn’t important, but to accidentally know that you’d be sought or fought for. Does that give worth? Does life begin with birth? Or does it begin with knowing that at one point you’re going to die and to live you’ll have to know you’re not going to live? These poor lives that may in fact be rich with things so greatly out of reach are the saddest and most perfect examples of why we must hate being happy with what we have.

At the Minimum it is Only Me I Hold: November 19, 2010 (10:14am)

Because my ugliness is only seen by the eyes that are sometimes described as beautiful or perhaps it’s that sound I hear when I ignore noise…no one knows any better, call me on my bullshit; beat me at chess; quote a better line, I’ve still got mine. I’ll deconstruct the ‘you-thought’ of me. Lock this away and you’ll still find an argument burried behind fallen parts that just seem destined to not hover, that’s why they descend and even if in some sad way you try to defend what I assure is hopeless, that doesn’t make the inevitability of it any less than what it is…practical! Change the stripes; adjust the spots; make it across the river with your new friend on your back, what do you get; yourself still thinking about rape as an arousal and boredom as a disease. We all beg to please; suffer, squeeze, distract and hope…oh gosh please hope. Die you fuck, choke! make it easy for us all to cope with not missing you and knowing that we had to listen to you   gasp for air time one last time.

Times are easy: November 17, 2010 (1:54am)

There are certain moments that are easier than others and those that should be forgotten, and those that are remembered more vividly than others. The problem is that those that are the hardest are a mix between both what has happened and that which has never happened. I'm scared of both just the same, am I sane!? I'm a fucking ghost a mother fucking imagining of what is real and hoped for all at once; I’m a mix between what the fuck and I can't fucking believe this...fuck. I’m here, sometimes; I decide that decisions are a joke but when it's the hardest outcome I’m the only one laughing; it's the end of the show and I’m the only one clapping.

Friends and family and those that you love, stop loving.

(143) November 13, 2010 (8:38am)

I’ve never met you, but you’re love. I can’t speak because my head talks too much and  my mouth won’t work and it knows: I’ll find some way to deconstruct you…you’re a flirt…stop being you. I’m disgusted with me, what will we talk about? I’ve had worse and probably better; talk is cheap…I could send you a letter. Would it be crimson?  Dressing to impress disregarded without notice, something …nonetheless- I can’t smile because you allure; I can’t stop coughing because a commercial says it’s the cure. How do I explain that you’re presence is a present to my fiber? If I had you my mind says: Could you hide her? A drop of something, just one more stir; if I become less of me, does that mean I become more of her? I’d like to like you and merge our souls, but as far as I’m concerned it concerns me no more. I’ll place my heart three steps behind, lost thoughts written down, you are my figment, I’m my seeker…you’re a four letter feeling…I’ll never find.

November 9, 2010 (3:53am)

You weren't my first kiss, but you were my first love. We had sex together for the first time; some glove, some love. Awkward and deliciously innocent. Young is what we were, I'd guess you'd concur. We don't speak anymore because it wasn't love or maybe it was and silence is the cause of such things; that's why it was what it was. Thinking about you is easy, forgetting you is hard, but am i supposed to? Lets pretend; let us defend such terrible greatness and adhere to Bliss, like our moments, as they all are, spread throughout our lives. I'm yours, you were never mine...I'll bleakly blind your hope and say when asked about you..."do you?", nope. That's hate not love; that's temper and reaction...a type of fulfillment derived from years of personal battle and crap; perhaps...never perhaps...never; always never satisfaction. I miss nothing about you and me cause we sucked as an "us", but I liked us. You won't read this, there's no reason for you to do such, I know we were so very different, but we always had our time to touch: skin-hearts; slight of head moments....this is where we could survive...where moments die

-xkp