Mormons AWAY!


So, I have this Mormon friend. I don’t have anything against Mormonsim, I want to get clear. I rarely hate on anyone unless you’re a consistent flake or my mother.

But anyway, this friend was talking about Halloween, and how her family’s super messed up about Halloween because they won’t let her or any of her family (family of 7) dress up like anything to do with witches, etc. Now, she HATES Mormons. Like, I think soon enough she’s planning genocide. She’s planning on denouncing it when she’s 18.

I was trying to border around agreeing with her, because although I’m very opinionated, I try not to say anything bad about religion. Too messy.

She beats me to it- “Mormons are fucked up.”

I almost died. I fell on the ground and cried I laughed so hard.

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I Need Something Scary


I really need something scary. My quarter grade for my writing class is to finish a scary short story (tomorrow’s Halloween). Not my forte, y’all. I mean, what do I do with that? What’s scary anymore? I want to take something out of my life, because I can think of three billion things in my life that were scary, but where do I go with them? Nowhere? Just stop?

I’m confused.

Miley Cyrus- Apparently “Wrecked”


I don’t think there’s anyone with a TV on Earth who doesn’t know who she is, frankly. Or who hasn’t badmouthed her to no end. The lady can be inappropriate, I will be the first to admit, but so can Britney Spears, so can Beyoncé, Shakira, Lady Gaga, adult entertainers, call girls, etc. Probably you, too. Just let it go. Sometimes the only difference between you or your own wife and this young woman is Miley’s perfectly sober, on TV, and you’re the only one who cares. Let the small shit go or just admit you are incredibly attracted to her.

Waking Up Before My Alarm


This is the fourth day in a row I’ve woken up before my alarm clock. I wouldn’t consider this an issue if I didn’t normally get up at 5 am and/or this means I’m only getting about 3 hours of sleep. And I’m not tired. At all. Not an ounce. I think a little too happy. Maybe cocaine-happy.

I believe I should do something about this.

If Anyone Ever Was


Things were always hot and
Something felt like fire, burned
Well, we tried jumping out
The windows like the teachers always said but
Daddy kept on saying, "Oh, no, now."
Kids, just sit down now.
I didn’t know what else, but I
Sat and we sat and
That was it, I guess
It was always us
In that burning
Building always,
Constantly asking ourselves
Where all the other kids were
If they ever were

All Blind


                I focus on the traffic lights. I can see easily which one is lit, my light perception was never damaged in the accident or the accidents after it or whatever I am allowed to call them nowadays, but paying attention is sometimes a problem. Sometimes I get confused. I ask why is everyone still moving?

                People move a lot.

                The worst is being the first car in line, when I’m supposed to be the first to go. I try to depend on the cars going the other way to slow down first, but even they don’t help much. Always one guy runs it and I get scared. And then there’s right-turn lanes. Fuck those up the ass.

                That is everything I am. Right now. Scared to go first. Scared to be alone. To have no one to get me out. I am the only one in the car now.

In theory, I suppose I could call my brother or my dad or even my best friend and someone wouldn’t hesitate to talk me through the whole drive from DC to Cocoa Beach. Take an Adderall and suffer through for me. Took all this mess of a business for them to realize they owe me one just one little favor- to help me find a whole new life. All I ask nowadays.

                My mother’s depression was always a very grey area for my family. Very grey. I was colorblind to it more than anything I had ever seen with my own eyes. I think Zayne being born was what set it all in a fast downward slope. Some sort of PTSD mothering thing. There’s a name for it somewhere. She lost herself. Drank. Picked up smoking. The pills. The men that weren’t Daddy.

Even dead and gone, I still don’t know what happened to her. I guess in a way, it kinda sits in me that I can die one day now and ask her why. That could make sense.

Right?

I think I really lost sympathy for her when Zayne turned three and I’d been illegally employed by a family friend since I was thirteen. She hadn’t hugged me since he was six months old. I’d been contemplating whether that bothered me or not.

                She caused the accidents, but I never really told people that. I didn’t want to believe it. I wanted her to be sick so bad. For her to not be in control of it. I would’ve given anything. She would go crazy, on medicated rampages, and Zayne and I would have to leave the house for days and hide in her friend’s spare bedroom until she cooled off and accused us of running away. Not like she had called the cops. I’m still contemplating if I ever wanted her to.

                But one of the accidents is the reason I went colorblind. And I went colorblind and now I’m afraid to drive. I’m afraid, period.

                When I was six, I had been doing dishes and standing on a kitchen chair. It was the last year Daddy lived with us.

My mom came home spitting mad after gambling (AKA losing), her clothes thrown up on and ripped and rumpled, and I could smell her from where she stood. I knew from that second nothing would go well that day.

My dad stood, said hello as if nothing had ever taken place and she looked positively lovely. She told him to piss off.

I forget all of what happened in the next few minutes, but I do know my mother shattered one of the glasses in the sink so hard that shards flew into my corneas. It’s a miracle I didn’t bleed to death just from that, a doctor had told me. Damage to my retinas or whatever they were was irreparable. I was lucky I wasn’t blind.

I don’t ever call it lucky. I call that God made a mistake in letting the condom break. I’m contemplating forgiving Him.

I can’t afford to hate my mom for everything she’s done, particularly her being turned to a fine powder now and all. It’s a waste of time and space and energy. I don’t have enough energy in me to waste it hating her for living an effing talkie film, for just now returning to a normal weight, for the scoliosis and yeah, yeah, yeahs. It would depress me too much to count.

 I think I can live with Daddy. If I want it to work then it can, right? Things are supposed to work like that. Anyway, Zayne’s fifteen now, it’s only three more years and then we can leave and never see Daddy again, either. We can still be better than them. We still have time, kiddo. Don’t give up yet.

“Please don’t give up on me, sweetie.” I whisper to the steering wheel. “You and I are it. It’s just part of the adventure.” That kid did not cry once when he came home. He did not shrug, did not whimper, he did not give a crap. It was like he didn’t have a mother to start with, and this was some rodent hanging from the shower curtain.

Jesus Christ, I love that boy. God, protect him. I’m doing a shitty job. He never loved his mom. Help me.

                Tears run down my cheeks again, and I wipe them away nervously. They get even blurrier. Sometimes I wish to all hell I really were blind. Like now, so I wouldn’t have to make this drive all alone. But I had to go and be all brave, now didn’t I?

                Finally I pull over right on the shoulder, not even far off Fredericksburg. I fold myself up into a ball in my seat and roll up the windows, turn off the car and go full blind a while. I’m still contemplating calling someone.

Like It’s So Tragic


Bi Pride

My family is very closet-homophobic. How closet? I didn’t find out until I came out.

I always kinda knew I liked girls, too, it was just a thing to me. I mean, I’m one of those people that doesn’t give a shit really what people have in their pants. It just happens. I like people, not necessarily parts. I don’t have to be a breeder, and maybe that’s the part that bugs them (especially that I may have POF).

Whatever- not here to justify myself. I think I’m fucking awesome.

My mom literally didn’t believe me for a while. Which didn’t bother me almost, because she’s kinda not the best person in the world in my book, so validating myself to her wasn’t a big thing. But then she actually started making fun of me for it, throwing out random things like, “dike” and “freak” just to piss me off. And it would always be in blatant public, and again so random that either I would be so shocked I wouldn’t know how to react, or her friends or even complete strangers wouldn’t know how to react. Humiliating bitch.

The rest of her family was weird. They almost don’t consider homosexuality a thing. They’re all dictors and nurses, so to them it’s purely hormonal. “Most likely a phase.” Seriously, one day I blew up at all of them over the holidays and screamed, “WHAT IF IT IS A FUCKING PHASE? I’M STILL STUCK WITH YOU! DO I MEAN ANY LESS? DEAL WITH IT!”

Bipolar moment maybe.

So aside from such moment, my father was rather odd about the subject. I get my lack of confrontation from him, so he avoided it. Didn’t really bother me. He kind of….respects it? Is that the right word? I guess avoiding it is better than being an ass about it, I mean. Like, I have transgender friends, and he refers to them by the right pronouns all the time and he isn’t an ass (well, he’s an ass, but in his traditional sense).

My godfather, Don, was the tiebreaker on my dad,, I’m gonna say. He’s the best. Like, if anyone should be my dad, it’s him (personally, I think he’s a little bi-curious too, but I keep my mouth shut). Almost dying a few time kinda makes you more tolerant of people I guess. YOLO. We pick out clothes together sometimes. He has really good taste in women’s clothing.

Okay, manic rant over with. Thank you.

Record This #1


I know no one’s really

Listening but someone should hear it

Anyway I’m

Not as tough as I pretend to be

I will laugh if you are funny

Cry if you make me sad

Fall head over heels if you love me

And worst,

Feel it all three hundred times

All over again and

Just be okay with that.

I would love to say it’s chemistry

It’s a part of me

But a part of a person is something they can explain

This is just something I am

I am stuck being

A human snow globe

For the whole world to watch

A walking temper tantrum

Sometimes just a waiting tidal wave

Especially that no matter what

Nobody ever goes down

With me

It’s Not A Bad Day, Just A Bad Thought


You see the car crash on TV,

And you still don’t believe that they’re gone.

The one who calls you darling and the one that you ran from-

But the truth and the hard part is

There’s nothing left to run from.

And that there’s no effing other ones

So you’re crying now, in the corner,

And you tremble so

Hard to think of home.

Love, I think I

Feel the same

Too

I don’t miss my father and my sister’s gone-

What the fuck am I going home to?

So where else do we go when we finish or forget?

I hold the letters in my shaking hands and the shaking words in my

Spinning head-

I can’t believe some people live like this

It’s a little bit frustrating

Thinking you’re nothing to me

And we’re nothing but blackness