maybe i should post something about now.
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i've been experiencing a feeling i haven't ever had before. the pit of my stomach fills with acid and i'm frustrated and scared and hot and cold and strong and weak and everything all at once. i can think about how i can't wait for my mother to come home, fly back safe on that bird in the sky from san diego, and at the same time, wish she left more often. i can listen to my dad tell me stories, even though he's seventy miles away. i just hear them in my head.
when he was seven years old, or something like that, he went trick or treating and ran ahead of his brothers and ended up getting beaten up by a bunch of older kids. they stole all his candy, and he learned his lesson.
god, everything hurts.
no. not you. i want nothing to do with you.
when i was fourteen, before i moved here, i discovered my love for biking. i started biking every day when i'd get home from school, for about two hours. and if the markers on the forest preserve trail were correct, i was biking about 15 miles a day.
my favourite part was a clearing where there was a forest just beyond a field. i was always raised in really highly populated suburbs of chicago, so this kindof area was uncommon to me. i loved it.
i also remember i would stop on the path right under the power lines and just listen to them buzz and crack and you could feel the electricity on your skin.
for some reason i'm always compelled to write about things i haven't remembered in a long time.
when i was a kid, my biggest fear was alzheimer's. and now my dad has it. or doesn't. or close to has it. or some stupid shit. maybe he's just too drunk to know my name anymore.
fuck this is too real to handle.
life is too real to handle.
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i've been experiencing a feeling i haven't ever had before. the pit of my stomach fills with acid and i'm frustrated and scared and hot and cold and strong and weak and everything all at once. i can think about how i can't wait for my mother to come home, fly back safe on that bird in the sky from san diego, and at the same time, wish she left more often. i can listen to my dad tell me stories, even though he's seventy miles away. i just hear them in my head.
when he was seven years old, or something like that, he went trick or treating and ran ahead of his brothers and ended up getting beaten up by a bunch of older kids. they stole all his candy, and he learned his lesson.
god, everything hurts.
no. not you. i want nothing to do with you.
when i was fourteen, before i moved here, i discovered my love for biking. i started biking every day when i'd get home from school, for about two hours. and if the markers on the forest preserve trail were correct, i was biking about 15 miles a day.
my favourite part was a clearing where there was a forest just beyond a field. i was always raised in really highly populated suburbs of chicago, so this kindof area was uncommon to me. i loved it.
i also remember i would stop on the path right under the power lines and just listen to them buzz and crack and you could feel the electricity on your skin.
for some reason i'm always compelled to write about things i haven't remembered in a long time.
when i was a kid, my biggest fear was alzheimer's. and now my dad has it. or doesn't. or close to has it. or some stupid shit. maybe he's just too drunk to know my name anymore.
fuck this is too real to handle.
life is too real to handle.
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