The Real Thing

I can not stand Diet Coke.

I don’t like wine coolers. 

I don’t even like adding ice to whiskey.

I think Cool Whip is gross. 

Margarine is an abomination.

Polyester is itchy and weird.

It pisses me off every fucking time I have to buy an Equate product or the Great Value version of anything.

I want the real thing. So much of my life I have had no choice but to settle for half measures and knock offs and surviving.

I am so fucking tired. When do we burn shit down?

Invention of the Wheel

 A hundred times in the last two weeks I’ve told Cap I don’t know how to be a person any more.

Luckily he still knows how to be a dog.

I do think I’d rather be that. Or a bird. Or a whale. Or an anything that isn’t plagued with the this that and everything of personhood these days. Just fill my bowl or let me scavenge and fly. I’m so… exhausted with the rest of it. 

I don’t give a flying fuck about the weird power plays of rich ladies who have nothing better to do than live vicariously through their teenagers. I would like to set fire to the homes of the ceos of the companies that inexplicably get to decide how much having electricity costs. I think it should be societally acceptable to fling shit at the men who ruin women’s lives because they refuse to have an honest conversation with their father or a therapist. I think it’s bullshit that having an illness that literally killed millions not that long ago and behaving like that’s the illness I have means I might not make rent this month. 

Every single thing is stupid. Literally how the fuck is the leader of the country a diaper donning reality tv star who has bankrupted every single thing he has touched for the majority of his life? How the fuck is that real? 

Why are people not raging in a much more French way about things yet?

I mean… I ask this as I sit in a place where I am not being particularly French myself, and I know the why. 

We are all stuck in this bullshit hamster wheel. 

And we thought human ingenuity was such a lovely thing. 

But what have we done… really

Sick

I despise being sick.

It’s nothing but flashback fodder.

I can’t think enough to really write. My brain is is just an angry cloud of pain and foggy bullshit.

I am so goddamn tired of it and Covid can fuck right off.

That is all.

May The Circle Be Unbroken

 Hey, buddy.

You remember how you don’t have a grandpa on my side of the family? That’s cuz whatever his name would have been to you, he hurt me the most that a father can hurt another person without killing them. Sometimes I wonder if maybe it was even more than that. That means he’s not a safe person to have in my life, or in yours. 

You remember how you don’t really have a grandma on my side of the family? That’s because she knew, or, at the very least, chose not to. That means she’s not a safe person to have in my life, or yours.

My dude, there’s a lot of other reasons in all of this that are why you don’t know those people, and won’t until you’re old enough to make that decision yourself - but those are the big ones.

Buddy, I need you to take this part in for real. This is not just a thing that I say, that I don’t believe with my full chest. There are people that could have made surviving a lot easier if I just decided to ignore that they weren’t safe. There are people that could have made me feel less alone if I had just decided to ignore that they weren’t safe. I decided a long time ago it’s more important to me that you and your siblings are safe than that I am comfortable. 

I will never stop deciding that people who harm those they should have protected are allowed to be in our circle. I don’t care who they are to me. When someone chooses to inflict that kind of harm - the kind that can’t be fixed with an apology and a change in direction - that person has to leave the circle. Anything less is a continuation of the harm they started.

Buddy, someday you may find yourself in a circle and maybe you learn everyone in it is fine with the harm. I’m gonna need you to leave it. I’m gonna need you to take anyone else who isn’t safe there with you. I’m gonna need you to remember how loud I taught you that you’re allowed to be. 

Buddy, I need you to know that I am not a rug-sweeper-under. Loving you does not look like letting you inflict harm. You came from me, and you do not get to harm without consequence. You are on the second rung of a ladder of learners. You are not a link on a chain of harmers.

I do hope that I am the loudest voice in your head here. I hope mine is the one that drowns out our ancestors, those of yours I don’t share, and most of all this terrible system that keeps caring so much more about the bright futures of men who harm than the blighted ones of those harmed.

Buddy, hear me when I say, I do not care who the harmer is to me. 

I will always side with the harmed.

Please keep being in our circle.

Heifer

I am thinking about her a lot these days. I wonder if she's still living with my sister or if either of them ever really grew up. I wonder if my dog is still alive and, if he's not, what happened. I wonder if she has someone sending her pictures of my kids, if she'd even recognize them in public. 

I wonder if she ever thinks about when I tried to tell her what I knew had happened, and if there is even a fragmented part of her who knows and is even a little bit upset that she didn't stop it way back when.

I wonder if, in all my wondering, I am hurting myself more, and I do wish that I could walk into an office somewhere and have them buzzed out of my brain.

Every time a new kid thing shows up I wonder how the hell she was so comfortable missing so much of my life. Yes, of course the now of it all -- but the then...

I wasn't a kid who looked in the crowd for her face at choir concerts and awards days. She's never been to a gig. She's never heard my original music. She never read my essays or my poetry.

It just hits like a brick wall everytime I remember all the little things. I keep expecting it to not be such a gut punch, but it always is.

It always is.

I'm better at certain times about pushing the thought out to pasture behind a gate, but it wandered in lately and that's one stubborn heifer.

Moms and Gates

 I wrote a stupid song about borrowing a mom from the pictures off the wall at a bar

Maybe it’s not so stupid but it feels stupid. I wanted to call one of the walk moms and ask what the fuck I’m supposed to do about several hundred things. I miss that.

I don’t know how I miss a thing I never had. I don’t know what it feels like. Sometimes I wish I could crawl inside my daughter’s head and feel what it’s like.

I tried to let mine be a mom once. It blew up so catastrophically that I knew never to do that again. That’s not a woman who is going to give sage advice. She’s going to make it about her and tell you in some backhanded way that you deserve whatever pain you’re feeling. Comfort doesn’t live there. 

I got real used to bottling up everything. And then there would always be some guy friend who would pull something that was wrong out of me and the gates just opened.

And some of them helped. And some of them hurt. But at least it was out.  I lean into the ones that help and my gates stay open. I lean into the ones that hurt and my gates stay open.

Until they get slammed shut from the other side and I panic. 

I see that I do that.

I forget I am not the only one with gates until all I am thinking about is gates because they just keep swinging this way and that way. And then I don’t care about gates. Fuck the gates. Fuck fences. I hate em both. And I run around like a fool and find myself drunk in somebody else’s field.

And then I wake up the next day and feel like a fucking idiot because I was one. I’ll tip toe out of the field, manage a quiet apology and gently close their gate.

I am going to attempt to be a normal human being who knows about gates and fences and lawn care and is so very normal and not weird at all.

And if the gates open again, we can all be normal people talking about the grass and how green it all is. I’d they don’t… well

I hope flowers grow in mine again soon. I’m not actually that fond of the grass, but the little white and purple flowers are nice. The grass has to be pretty green for those to grow. Guess it’s time to care about watering it again.

Stupid Questions

Can you land on the sun

if you do it at night

Will you drown in the ocean
if you try to drink instead of breathe

If you bury a secret
by the willow
do the roots tell the leaves

Can I outrun my shadow
if I run toward the dark

If the moon fell into the water
would the ocean become the sky

If you break a promise
to yourself

but never say it out loud

did it ever count

If I am afraid of losing you
does that mean I have you

or has it already happened

If your hand still fits in mine
is that evidence of anything

If I can imagine a life without you
does that mean I don't want one with you

Is the restlessness in my bones 

a sign that perhaps maybe

I am not actually the cool girl

Did I develop standards 

and am I even allowed to

Is it selfish to raise a bar 

that you already lifted up from hell

Is it settling if this 

is leaps and bounds better

than anything I’ve ever known

Baby can you water the grass

I wanna stay in our yard

Is it ours

Did we let it die 

When did the fence start falling apart

and is it because you’re sitting on it

or am I