Bitches

Something I wrote down on my history notebook when I was obviously not thinking about WW1, yet I find the words oddly connected.

The pathetic contingency that is my life, thrives on the hope of wish fulfillment in my dreams, rather than the realistic potential of personal creation.

XOXOX

History Final Today!

ichat

I hate bots
boys*
being single is so hard
no its not
b quiet
I care so much about everyone
and I am nothing
I am passing through
I hate that feeling
you are saying filth to me
I just always fool myself
into thinking I am all these things
like smart and cute and nice and fun
all these good things
but college I am so different
people are used to people like me
there are a million smarter and cuter people
college doesnt define who you are
dont elt it
let*
why are you playing the comparison game
yer cooler
than that
trust me
psh
I am dating this boy
and he is like nerdy!
but he's fucking like tells me that he wants to get with other girls!
and
like
flirts with everyone
and makes me feel so scared
and so I cling to him
like
a fucking vagina that I would make fun of
but that's me!
FAK MY LOIFE!
I wanna
be
with
boys
DUDE
who
FUCKING
B A STRONG WOMAN
make me breakfast and kiss my fingers and push strings of hair out of my face
and
have long conversations with me
about
nonsense
and
death
and
violence
and we're really serious about it
but then start laughing
im very serious
because we're scared
and
happy
an
d
dying
and
we are scared and happy
that's what I want!
and you should write this down onto paper and not onto a ichat box
I write these things down
and re read them again and again and again
ok good
:)
Sorry
needed to talk to someone~
LOL
I'm done with self loathing now
dont self loathe in las vegas

Fam

I am the daughter of my mother.
She has created every being of my breath, my skin and soul.
She as harbored my insanity, abhorred my instability but cherished my constant critique.
I am the daughter of my mother.
My mother bathes in chaos. Pretending to run from it, but still keeping it close to heart, chaos is her lover.
With it she finds meaning, feeding it, clothing it.
Gifting it.
I take it eagerly.
The best thing my mother ever gave me is her chaos.
Because chaos lets my mother cry and chaos lets my mother speak. Chaos gives my mother the strength to explore, the willingness to ignore
Harsh judgment.
Chaos has created my mother; every blond hair on her head, every freckle on her cheek, every kiss hello—it’s chaos.
And it’s breathing within her, thriving within her, she feeds it and it feeds back—growing and moving—fermenting and re-seeding.
Chaos is my mother’s garden, her home, her husband.

I used to hate my mother’s chaos.
I’ve tried for years not to let myself cry, or feel, or read, or listen, or speak.
So many of the other people are chaos free, they watch their big screen TVs and eat chocolate chip cookies with the neighbors maybe a cup of tea.
The other people have two well-behaved children—pampered and presentable
-Inherited prestige.
They have live in maids and good china sets, big back yards and a collection of well-mannered pets. They read poetry and then put it back, they pay for private school and never eat buffalo barf. They watch football games and appreciate ballet, good literature, politics.

But I am a chaos kid, I cry to the NY Times, I suck at tennis and eat way too much junk. I am a feminist but blog about boys. Plaid shirts, booty shorts, chipped nails chapped lips. Rats nest on my head aint to presentable. I throw hissy fits and I’m unstable. I talk real loud and curse at the dinner table. But the chaos lets me breath and feel and shake and smile, it lets me scream and be obscene and major in philosophy. It makes me more like my mother and she’s anything but chaos free.

"I hope you know how absolutely insane you drive me. I am becoming irrevocably more and more deranged. Savage I say. Savage."

Mama Wife

I just wanna be your wifey.
Rub your back and make your bed.
I just wanna lay with you.
Make babies with you--leave your line.
I know I shouldn't be thinking this.
Bought sailing sea shores
Your ring on my hand.
Baby belly--you hold me sweet.
I just wanna be your wifey.
Take pictures on our honeymoon
Invest for jest
in our country house.

TTTTTT

Down worries you wrote in your book

bout getting laid and loosing face.

Just eat you up and throw you out,

I'm stationary but not for you.

It's a life style.