can't stop nothin...

i'm not ready. i'm not ready to be grown up. i'm still too stupid. i'm still too lost. i'm just not ready yet.

my little emotions still ache when i'm ignored. i don't know how to handle frustration. complication. rejection. tension. i hate the feeling of sticky. i hate not knowing where i'm going or what i'm supposed to do. i don't know how to get along. i'm not ready to be grown up.

every night is a new nightmare and i haven't been able to sleep in weeks. last night my house was surrounded by men with guns, waiting to kill me.

i'm moving into a great apartment in three days. it's everything i always thought would be, just... it. downtown. it has ten-foot ceilings and enormous, funky windows. above an old shop in an even older building. french doors and lots of space. and until two days ago, i thought i was ready to fend off the world. younger people than me are. why aren't i?

the cuban police were trying to execute me. i was driving through town, trying to hide my car, racing to meet my mom. time was running out, and they never even knew i was a communist.

my favorite friend moved away. and we didn't even get a chance to be real friends for that long. i finally found a person to share poetry and a field with. someone else that would pretend night airplanes were slowly shooting stars. but he's gone now too, ready to be grown. why aren't i?

locked in a building, knowing that the end of the world was coming at 6:55 pm, but all of the clocks were broken. just waiting for an inevitable time of doom, with only an abstract notion of when.

last time i tried to play grown up, it hurt so much. maybe i'm just scared still, but i know that isn't it. that's what other people tell me, but i know that isn't it. i have nothing to fear.

they shot my sister. and then my grandfather.

i can't bring myself to pack up my bedroom. i can't even bring the things in my basement that are ready to go outside to the garage. my clothes are still unwashed, all over the floor. posters are still on the wall, and my books are on bookshelves. cds haven't found a box. bootleg tapes are lying in piles. dishes and towels, tv and stereo, not even thinking about leaving.

i was running through these tunnels, and they were after me. i didn't know what they were going to do, but i knew i had to hide. and i kept running, but there's nowhere to hide inside a smooth tube.

it's not a big deal. i'm not afraid to be on my own. i work. i can pay bills. i go to school, and i know how to get things done. but i don't feel smart anymore. i watch other people now. see how they work, study, talk, think. i know i can't compete. i know i've lost my mystery as a woman, that i'm just an object. awkward clothes adorning an awkward being. i wish i was ready.

i was covered in dead worms. i could taste them they were shoved so far down my throat.

did you know it was possible for a person to regress so in just a couple years? did you know that a normal, healthy girl could turn into such a fearfull mess? did you know? did you?

my mom was dead. i don't remember how or why, but i felt the blame. and it smelled so real.

i'm so lonely. when i move out, i'll be lonely all over. no real friends left--none that live here anymore. no lover. no caretaker. no one to look after. i'm going to be alone. completely alone. god, i suck at alone. i don't have mystery, i don't have anything. everyone else is finding new friends, new everything, or hanging onto the old. and i hear about it. but i don't share in any of it. i hate alone.

so glad i'm jumping into it. maybe they'll finally get around to killing me one of these nights.




<-- Previous | Next --> || Home