Does everyone have a fucked up family? Is anyone actually happy, or is that just a fucking myth designed to keep all of us working for the system as it tries to tear us down? becquse i am a faggot tranny motherfucker with an alcoholic mother and a cheating scumbag of a father and a sister who stopped giving a shit when she stopped having to look us in the eye every god damn day and i am so fucking good at playing happy and normal that i just do it naturally by now. my teammates seem to think i'm being abused and the real fucking kicker is i have no idea if i actually am. so fuck you all. fucking fuck you all, you don't give a shit if i die, nobody gives a shit.

i was doing so well and i was happy and now i think im getting bad again. i cant write for shit anymore. i cant draw for shit either. nothing makes sense and everything i do is something ive seen before. im so fucking tired and i keep dreaming about spiders. its been 2 fucking years since i did anything bad. but fuck if it isnt tempting.

my mom tried to kill herself last night.

maybe everything that falls down eventually rises

when i close my eyes all i see are dried up flowers and cold crashing waves
every sound is amplified and leaves echos ringing in my ears in my ears in my ears

you were laughing with me earlier and i wanted to write you a song or a poem or a story about dying our hair in a motel bathroom with shoplifted colors

and about five dollar lipstick

and your 1 am cigarettes

and drunken kisses that are sweeter than the purest hit, the purest hit, the purest...

but you aren't here now, and i'm trying to recall the way your eyes look in the murky morning light

and the way you cut your own hair with the kitchen scissors

and the curve of your hips as they shook along to the radio

and words keep bubbling up, but i can't put them in order

battery acid, midnight, corporeal, shimmering, laughter, lonely, longing, looking, star light, star bright, first star i see tonight tonight tonight tonight

wishes for kisses for wishes for something

and i'm trying to make a mixtape just to keep my thoughts in order

but it isn't coming out right because i don't have that song from that movie that i love

the one by Blondie or the Nerves or Flowers Forever forever forever forever

don't leave me hangin' on the telephone

don't leave me hangin' on the telephone

i can never understand what's going on around me. there are all these noises and pictures and i can't tell the difference between what i see and what you see and it's loud and chaotic and everything's happening all at once and i can't deal with it anymore and i don't know what's going on. i can't tell what things actually look like or sound like because the world is always changing and i just. don't. know.

but i always see you. and i always hear you. you are warm, and constant, and you show your feelings on your face so that i can see them. most of the bad things go away when you're near me, and i just want to hold your hand.

it doesn't have to be in a romantic way. i don't ever want to make you angry or uncomfortable, i just can't handle what's happening to me, and i want something stable to hold on to, and i know that your hand won't twist into claws beneath mine.

and if it does, it's okay if you hurt me.

i don't think i'd mind.

i am full of peace.

sometimes i get terrified for no particular reason. my heart pounds and my chest feels tight and i can't breathe right and adrenaline courses through my veins. and whenever this happens, i get this feeling in my gut that tells me to scream. something tells me that i should scream hard and loud, that i should rip my vocal chords apart with this scream. my gut says it will help. my mind says that it won't, though. so i don't. instead i bite my tongue and concentrate on my breathing and work. i write or draw or sing or clean or fold or organize or recite poetry from memory until i feel calm enough to stop. i spent the past two hours folding and singing to myself. it's 3:10 in the morning. i'm writing because it feels like there are words banging around in my body, bouncing off of my bones and circling my ribcage, and if i don't get them out, all they will do is give me bad dreams. i can't find the words though. they are there, but i just can't make them out.

i have recently gotten into a band called Perfect Pussy. they have a song called "I" and near the endo of it, the lead singer just keeps on repeating

i am full of light.
i am full of light. 
i am full of light. 
i am full of light. 
i am filled with joy. 
i am filled with joy. 
i am filled with joy.
i am filled with joy. 
i am full of peace. 
i am full of peace. 
i am full of peace.
i am full of peace.
i am full of peace.
i had this dream that i forgave my enemies.

i find that if i repeat this to myself before i sleep, my dreams are not so grim. 

it was very warm today in California. 

xoxo

all in a week's work.

my feet are covered in bandages
my knees are mottled purple and yellow and green from bruises new and old
my thighs ache from over use

there are deep circles under my eyes that are purple around the edges
the nail polish i applied the other day in a fit of boredom is pink and sparkly and chipped
my knuckles look strange in this light
scarred and bruised and knobbly

what remains of my eyeliner is smudged up to all hell
my stomach hurts
it's so fucking quiet tonight

earlier i got angry
i swilled coca cola like whiskey
paced a divot into my carpet
and drew until ink and graphite stained my fingertips
and my heart felt like it would burst.

and now i want to be angry
like i so often am
but i just don't have the energy to feel much at all