double standard

if a boy sleeps around

hes just living.

no one has a problem with it.

if i decided i wanted to start doing so

i'd be a whore.

i don't like it.

i don't think its tough

to not talk about it.

people that do make me mad.

hey now, fella. watch your step there, big guy.

i feel like i haven't a decent conversation with anybody in

such.

a long.

time.

i don't believe in maturity.

i mean

who the fuck gets to decide what's proper

what's "grown up"

and what's not.

i hate people

that say things like "i'm mature"

or

"you're immature"

i don't ever want to date anybody ever again.

i just want to make out.

people are just a distraction for me.

a convenient way to stop thinking.

thats why i like them.

you're so lovely

sometimes, it hits me and makes me so incredibly filled with shame about how little I know.
How naive I am. How I act along with stupid things like "worries" and "fears" keeping my mouth shut about things, and over thinking things until someone else opens their mouth, and gets the credit. Nothing should be thought about. Thinking denotes importance. And importance is garbage.

I want to know things;
insights
and wisdom before anybody.

I don't like wanting that, but I do.
Insights are all trash though or all treasure depending on who you are
and what you let it mean relative to you.

I claim to understand the way i work, and I do.
A lot of it's been bred in to me; a lot of it is innate.
But there are vast minds out there that understand
and never get caught up with thinking about anything because they know their minds aren't honestly capable of determining if anything truly is important, let alone, knowing said truly important things. They can sense it's inconceivable amplitude.

Yet they grasp something too.
Something I don't know how to break away from.
They understand that they don't have to be so naive.
They don't have to look at things with or even know the idea of "importance".
They know and can feel every fucking unimaginable aspect of strange "phenomena" we would call it.
Things most people look at, and don't even notice.
This phenomena, we look at as real, or unreal all the while thinking we have the right to invent such a word, and to categorize anything around us under our silly little vocabulary.

How dare I ever allow myself to feel sorrow? What is jading me, and making me feel like there is a screen I can't see that if I could only grab a hold of and pull down, I could be filled, and burst with indescribable enlightenment of some sort.
And bliss.
Wordless understanding that would leave me crying in relief after all the years of straining to reach the sheet,
in agony at the unbearable weight of a human body
a human mind, and human instincts;
Existing in a different yet identical dimension, once blind, this time
filled with unintelligible awe.

Awe.
the word doesn't do it justice.
I would be in true form there.
I would have no emotions because I would cease to be me as "i" was enveloped in a wholeness, and an emptiness, and a quiet, comforting, glowing, sleepy existence.




Now you-- you're so much smarter than that and you shouldn't take any deep advice from such an egotistical fuck because you have more depth than it could ever dream of being able to so much as recognize. I think people shouldn't take things so seriously because like i said, no conclusions can be come too, and trusted;
even that one.
and that one.
And yes, all of them.

Realizations are bullshit.

Sometimes I think I don't like things, and I might not like things a lot, but the real reason is not due to the nature of things themselves, but the idea of significance again, and how steadfastly humans stick to it, and don't question it, or question themselves, or go past logic. I can't stand blind, stupid certainty. And the way everything gets taken advantage of . We complain because of things we think we know, and all of this, could mean nothing because all I have is my logical mind and its logical bounds.

Everybody wants to be different but nobody can.
We'ree all trees. We all have basrks, and leaves, and need soil and oxygen to grow in, and expand, and lose leaves.

But no tree grows in the exact same directions with identical roots, colors, leaves, bark, texture, or branches. We're all the same and certain things aren't optional, because its what makes us who we are.

Snowflakes are all snowflakes. All crystals, all frozen water, all come from the sky.
But no two are exactly alike, they say, because no one's head has been through the same experience from start to present. No one's had the same contunous flow of thoughts and no one ever will because no one else is you and you have a lot to do with your experiences, therefore thoughts, therefore life.

i'm sick

of pretty things
of sexual innuendos
of local kids that pretend to be apathetic
of every single song i've ever heard
of jokes and laughing
of you
of you
of opinions

of lack of opinions
of words
of expressing oneself
of being a human
of relativity
of anybody thinking anything is serious
of anybody thinking everything isn't serious
of stupid goddamn contradictions
of my stupid fucking cat

i'd smile
because i feel fine.
but i'm sick of smiling too.
i'm sick of being sick of anything.
who the fuck are you?

i'm thinking

about cutting all of my hair off.
because i think i'm more attractive with long hair
and i just want morph in to something completely different.
i want to stop caring.
because i can't handle having any emotion anymore.
not happiness. not fear.
not infatuation. not sadness.

i don't know what i want to do at this point.

run away
with ridiculously short hair
and like, get a tattoo or something

do something i really regret.
show that i really don't care anymore.
because i won't.
because i can't.

the world is so awful

not really though.
not at all.
it's rather lovely actually.
what is awful?

one time
i traced my fingers around the sharp edges
of a pop can
and made myself bleed on the way to Wexford
for thanksgiving dinner
in a dusty smelling garage.

it wasn't really so bad.

and one time
when my face was oblong
and i was covered in sandpaper
fruity pebble colored molecules
the little white stones in my body were snapped
and someone received me
and smiled
because it wasn't really so bad.

years ago when all i wanted
was to want to be the Pit-stop instead of Penelope
i was 15 psychiatrically
because today instead of growing up
we grow down
and now in the form of the skin i'd shed and left for dead
i'm haunting myself
my hypocrisy
displayed through the naive lyrics
of pathetic little girls who are counter productive in each and every production they produce.

barbie eat a fucking sandwich? if you weren't so stupid
you'd understand
that if it was that simple
if it was really about the goddamn sandwich
Barbie wouldn't have a fucking problem.

Stop complaining.
The world is wonderful
Life is Wonderful
And even though you think it could be better
I guarantee you, even if everything you wanted to change
changed
someone
somewhere
would find something
to think is AWFUL.
I'm going to Stratford-Upon-Avon.