its not that im bitter or jaded. its just that i cant un-see what ive seen.
i cant pretend that i dont see it. pride, my worst enemy will not allow my head to go back under the sand.
maybe it was seeing the punches to the face, the terror in my mothers eyes or the shame of writing about the times i was sexually abused. i just know that there are bold, deep red slices of life, good and bad, that cannot be ignored. i have seen the white hot soul of life.
i dont want to hear your half assed band that doesnt take fucking chances.
i dont want to read your bullshit books and zines that lack personality.
i dont want to play coy with emotions and not kiss you when all i want to do is be wrapped up in you on a couch.
sure, it leaves room for a gaping hole of disappointment, but its not my fault that most people are unremarkably boring. sometimes myself included. but i refuse to spend the rest of my life listening to boring rock singing about stupid fucking clouds or listening to people talk about a new rug for 20 minutes.
everyones so fucking scared to bring it and i see it in your eyes and when you look at me and i hope you can see the animosity and contempt i have for your chicken hearts.
they talk to me and my soul rolls its eyes because i know that very few of them have the ability or capacity to burrow anywhere near attention.
i fall in love with tear-streaked faces on their knees begging me to listen. to the bloody knuckles of a woman willing to scale a wall or someone willing to grab me by the fucking hair and say, “look, you fuck, i love you and i dont give a shit if you say it back or not.”
you want to know about me, fucking ask.
you want someone to read your work, fucking send it to everyone who will or wont listen.
you have something to say, write it. scream it. make people listen and if they dont, write it again and scream harder.
stop asking strangers their fucking opinion on whether or not you should peek your goddamn head out of the ground.
black tshirts and jeans every day because everything else is bullshit clown suits.
$300 belts make me think what a “fuck you” it is to poor people and your $600 heels only show me how small your life must be. bragging about guest lists and VIP boxes is so unimpressive it makes me wish i could take back the few minutes i ever wasted on you. and if you ever gloat about how much money you spent on something just know that i am silently wishing you would evaporate from my life.
learn how to apologize.
learn how to say ‘i love you’ to someone other than your cat… and mean it.
learn how to express yourself.
learn how to smile a “fuck you” regardless of the outdated traditions, the talentless critics or what is fashionable.