Nabisco crackers and everything’s going to be okay.

When I was 10 years old at my dads house I had a nightmare. Despite feeling too old to be scared I was. I dragged my self from my back bedroom all the way to their room. I knocked on the door crying and my dad was really sleepy looking and I felt awful. He said “you’re crying” and I sat in his chair in the living room and he went into the kitchen. He never asked what it was about, never said they’ll stop soon. He just went into the kitchen. He came back out with a cup of Dr.Pepper and a pack of nabs peanut butter crackers. He handed them to me and we watched cartoons till morning and then went on with our day. Sometimes I wish someone would just hand me a cup of Dr.Pepper and nabs crackers and sit with me.

SDF:”LKsd;lk

I go to school on Monday and everyone in my school is an idiot. I’m probably one of those idiots to all the other kids that think the same thing. But everyone in my classes is weird (me) and dumb. This one girl asked what a root word was and I wanted to leave or vomit but I just laughed and everyone looked at me including the parents because it was open house. And I have all this great flannel but I can’t wear it because it’s hot as hell here. Ok teenage angst and anger and whatever go away you’re not welcome here. 

I’d like to be with you in the summer

in the winter

in the fall

but spring I shall keep to myself.

Do you fancy me as a person, you asked. 

no

you don’t?

no. I fancy you not as a person, but as a poem. A poem I read in school but pretended to hate, because no one likes poetry. I fancy you as a painting in a museum I don’t really understand, but I pay the entrance fee with the last of my money to go stand in front of it for hours. As lyrics to a song in another language I’ve never heard. But never as a person

Function.

and it’s sad. because I’ve never seen the sky change colors. But

it was okay because my neurologist told me I had a beautiful mind, if function is 

what we’re talking about. But function was never good enough for you. You needed

something to have a purpose and a meaning. I’d sit outside, exposed, puffing an

American Spirit and you’d tell me to come inside because it all meant nothing. 

And I’d laugh and you’d nuzzle my side and we’d, for a moment, revert to something. 

My mom would come in a blue minivan to pick me up, and you’d ask me not to leave, 

but you never stopped me, when I walked out your front door in nothing but

a pair of Birkenstocks. 

Thoughts scattered across the wall 

 I’ve never been so dead. 

I’ve never been so alive. 

I’ve never been such nothing. 

 

Sunday afternoons ill spent

My mother and grandmother talk about all the people from where my mom calls home. My sister texts her boyfriend and scowls in the corner, while cooing over the puppy. My grandpa talks to me about politics and makes corny  jokes over coffee while we all try to act like this is how we’d prefer to spend a sunday afternoon. When really my mom would like to be sleeping. And my sister would like to shop. And my grandma would like to sit. And my grandpa would like to walk a long walk. And I’d like to be with you.

I hate reading about people. I hate having to learn about them through the words of others. I want to hear their words, passions, and fears all in the way they say hello. I want to know their struggles by the way they say their own name. I just want to meet people. I want to talk to them for an extended period of time and see their soul shine through. But it frightens me. Do I display mine? Does the old man inside me rear up. I think if God were real he played a horrible joke. I am that of an 80 year old man. Who has had too many hardships, ex wives, and empty whiskey bottles in his life to ever truly love. That can not be held down by this terrestrial area and can only be soothed out at sea, singing of the loves he never lost to the people that were never real, but only created to serve as a foil for his own problems. I am the old. And I want to meet people.

I’m not as cynical as I can come off. I’ve always seen the world through rosy colored lenses, and it will be the downfall of me. I guess I just can’t accept things at face value, I always think it isn’t a big deal or will change in the near future as the universe works out its kinks. I can’t really get sad, because when I do, I realize that being able to feel emotion is something so beautiful it cancels out any sadness I had. I’m also a crier, so whenever someone yells I cry because I guess I’m just hyper sensitive but after a while I laugh so much because crying so funny. Thousands of tears shed, and we can still produce more. We read The Watson’s go to Birmingham in 5th grade and I remember the line from it “My eyes don’t cry no more.” And it sort of stuck with me, as a way of saying mine still do, and there’s something to be said about that. So I don’t think I’ll ever feel sad or guilty when I cry for any reason. I’ll feel elated that I have emotion and feel so alive that my blood boils with excitement at the mere feeling of feeling. 

I also look at people with rosy tinted glass. I give too much, I feel hurt, but do nothing about it. That’s the thing about me and people. I don’t like them as a whole. But then they always go around doing something to make you fall in love with them. They hit there hand on a desk and cock their head to the side to try not to cry out. She drops her pencil and sorta laughs at herself. He walks in the hall way to a beat. She’s mean to someone because she doesn’t understand feelings yet. Individuals do the shittest most vial things to each other but it’s all beautiful because they can. They’re so glorious on their own and come with their own universe of understanding and experience that I love them. And I hate them. I love them because I can hate them. The duality of emotions is what makes them so profound. 

I think my really good friend would be an example. She’s childish, she knows it. She revels in it and I do too. I don’t know how to respond to her a lot of the time and I think she often thinks I’m angry with her for some reason. I am not used to open people. People are hardly open anymore. But she is. She’s as wide open as can be with doe like eyes looking out onto this world we inhabit. I can’t take her all in at once, so I shutdown a lot. But I go home and think things all over and realize that’s exactly what’s so fantastic. It’s her self realization of flaws and understanding that being nice will get you as far as you want in life. She calls out random things in a way of saying ‘hey, I’m here’ and it’s so perfect because she is there. She is there and has a heart so big ate her whole. She’ll laugh loud, ask questions, admit defeat, and then realize she was never defeated because a person like her can never be. They can only grow, grow, and grow. Because she cracked any ceiling that will hold people back in adulthood at such an early age, her growth not as a person, but as a soul can only be as linear as she wants. I haven’t really met someone quiet like her, and I’ll revel in that as long as I possibly can. I hope everyone gets a Georgian Laina in their life. I don’t know how you’d survive without. 

To wrap it up, I don’t think there’s anything as liberating as sticking your hand out of a moving cars window at night. 

Howl.

I adore you so much I want to puke when you talk to me. I adore you so much I want to puke when you don’t talk to me. I have concluded that I want to puke all the time. I’m oddly okay with that. Because maybe I’ll finally purge my body of these feelings of you and life will go on and flowers will still grow and I’ll still pretend to be a wolf when no ones around and okay.