babaloni repenitentmoxie repenitent
i have a confession to make. several, really...more than that, i just need to get some things off my chest. i've been at it again. yeah, you know it. eating carbs. damn that demon sugar, fuck that freaking flour...i'm a junkie, i think. i have dumped some serious pounds since my ex did the ol' split-ola, poof -and-gone routine back in the heat of august. was it really that hot, ever? i'm freezing my skinny ass off. maybe that's why i've been carbing out and i don't mean on beer. in fact, i haven't really been drinking at all. same for fucking. i put my pussy on the bench--we're at odds right now and she hasn't spoken to me in weeks. i'm immune to passive aggression though, so she can just get happy in her mad pants. who needs a pussy anyway, right? i always secretly resented being a girl and would have preferred to have the freedom a cock guarantees any damn day.
truth is, i've been a little lonely and i struggle with that. a lot. my inner schism rules me, most days. inside, it rages on and on...through the depths of sleep and over the banks of dreams, the freeze of my resolve is melting and there's a soft nougat center where an ice sculpture was not so very long ago. i'm not good at admitting to myself that i feel like a loser and moving from that to graceful is impossible without a lot of drama in the betweens. by all accounts, i am not a loser. i have a good job with perks that some would kick piles of dogshit for. my house is small and cozy and filled with the loving chaos of two divinely delicious, healthy children who, strangely enough, slipped from that hot place inside me that i'd rather not think about. i love them more than life itself and yet i cannot wrap my mind around raising them singlehanded for the next 6 weeks, let alone the next 15 years. wow. i never really wanted to do this. i never really thought i'd make it out of the ghetto intact, much less get beyond needles and hard-ons and wake up to find the fruit of my labors walking and talking and being perpetually clever.
did your kids ever walk in on you blowing somebody? mine either, i was just being abstract, really. still awake?
tonight i saw a man whose sharp profile reminded me of my ex. the sight of him sliced me through and i was weak for a moment. i only just admitted today that i still love the man whose children i nearly died in the great endeavor of gifting sentience to. i do. he left me and them without a fight. he walked away and even if he looks down from his mountain at us, i know i'm invisible to him. his eyes would be for the children he once loved so sweetly. i am an afterthought and a howling wind to be avoided at all costs, my brutality has scarred him into a junk heap like a humpty dumpty that even the kings men cannot fix. how could i ever give my life and everything over to such a person? was it him? was it me? did i break him? was he already broken? did i fuck it all up myself? am i the bearer of this overwhelming devastation alone? how can i ever be trusted with my own heart again? i am obsessive, compulsively seeking the furtive glances of the male passersby in my wake. they see, they approve. they lust, lunging in a gape-eyed moment and i smirk. reassured, i am okay, really. i win the gazes of potential suitors every day that i step out of my house. none of them ever speaks...they are mute, silent on my doorstep and there are miles of cool glass between us. i'm on the wrong side of a two sided mirror, persephone and narcissus. i am sad and perhaps dangerous. it radiates from my pores and sings out between the spaces in my teeth. maybe one day i'll stick my head in an oven, a la sylvia plath. best not trust me with your vital organs, friend. wouldn't be prudent.
did you ever find yourself walking along, feeling your standard, run-of-the-mill numb, only to find yourself very suddenly on your knees, spilling every drop the oceans ever held through your very own eyeholes? the layers of emotion are so very convoluted that i cannot manufacture words to tell about them. i assume that this is what is referred to as "the human condition" and, no, i don't expect to elude such a stealthy tracker. even the captor is hostage to the folks he's jacking up by virtue of the fact that he needs them to get the thing he wants badly enough to do harm to acquire; i assume that this is all right and good somehow and that someday it will all even out on the playing field of just desserts and eyes for eyes. i wanna scream sometimes, that's all. and sometimes, i do and it's those times that are the worst because then i have to believe in my own ferocious need and debilitating infantile urges.
one day i'm gonna pick myself a better poison. last night i actually ate food products from taco bell on purpose and i paid good money to do so. my friends think me so virtuous--ha! i only demand virtue from others. put it into the machine and get a steamy styrofoam cup of happiness to go! i stay up late and get up early. i forget to shower sometimes and often realize it's been a week since i brushed my hair. people always tell me how pretty i am. i expect it now and wind up petulant if it goes unacknowledged. without my pretty, my secret uglies stashed under clever entendre, i am invisible and aphrodite is a vengeful patroness, it's true. the discovery that a man wouldn't make me feel better has dealt a huge, crushing blow to my mental playground. i have no daddy. i exist in no-man-land. i can't eat away the black inside. i can't shop or wardrobe it away. i try to laugh it away, bawdy funny girl that i am, and that works while other people play along, tapping the table to be dealt some of my cards....but damn sure, and it hurts to tell, this black in me can't be fucked away. i am at a loss.
a cocktail and a pill, boy that's a nice little vacation. but a hangover's no good when breakfast time is here and dem wee bellies are rumbling. in the dark, the dreams are spiked and grizzly in the haze of booze and xanax. can't do it. too bad.
they say you can never go home. i wonder why such a dreadful truth exists when you can turn on the radio and hear a song that takes your hand and ghost-of-christmas-pasts you right back there, pasting you into the picture where you left off another day, in a universe far, far away. can't go back. can't go home. can't know what's next, can't trust your own vision. creating your own truth and blazing a new trail is a damn tough thing and you don't even know how scary it is until you are miles and miles down into the bowels of nowhere in an endless cotton field in the south louisiana of your mind and there ain't nobody around to ask for directions. even if there was, they'd be speaking some foreign language and they'd laugh you silly for being such a thick minded free thinking dumbass who left the flock and got themselves lost and dirty in the cold.
i wanna go home. i wish i just knew how to get there.
posted by babaloniyoni @ 9:12 AM