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when i was a kid, my parents were everything.
they were the first people i saw when i was born into this world. even if i didn’t love them, or couldn’t understand what love was… i needed them. somewhere in my immature, undeveloped brain i understood a basic truth: that i depended on them.
i grew up, i learned to put thoughts into words. i understood, for the first time, what they were saying to me. “i love you.” that’s what they said. i was tiny, and cute, and brand new… i were an exciting new part of their life. full of promise. of course i’d appeal to them then.
i soon understood that crying wasn’t just hunger and tiredness and discomfort. i grew some more and found something else — pain. not just physical pain.. something more sinister and adult. and i realized that “adults” weren’t just “grown-ups”, not just more developed human beings… but disgusting creatures capable of horrific acts.
and with the discovery of pain, and words, and tears i discovered one more thing. i was now able to understand the words my parents hurled at each other behind the scenes, behind closed doors. when they fought they couldn’t give two shits about me or my sister. they screamed at each other for all to hear, including the neighbors. they thought i couldn’t understand them if they fought in korean, but i did. every word. and from then on, from very early in my childhood, i rejected the korean language. it was ugly to me. it was spit-out words and obscenities and venom on the tongue.
anyway.
i realized it was useless to break down fights into itty-bitty pieces and analyze them. it was all so simple. in fights, there were winners and losers. one would be the attacker and one would be the defender. and eventually, one would lose.
when i was a bit older, my mom told me to my face that i would be a shitty parent, because my own parents were shitty. she admitted that she’d failed me with seemingly no remorse. i then expanded my view to all of life. you either win or lose in life. fuck all the genetic psychoanalysis. what it boils down to is that if you’re raised a “loser”, being shit on by your parents day in and day out, you’re not going to say “hey, i’m going to be a doormat to my kids so they can have an amazing childhood!” no. you’re going to be embittered, and say, “hell no, i’m not being shit on for the rest of my fucking life. i’ve already had enough of that under my parents’ roof.” and you’ll lord over your kids and subordinate them. that’s how bad parents come to be.
after my mother’s parents died, she often told me tearfully that they were the “best parents ever”. i didn’t doubt this for a second. but the more i learned about her childhood, the more disgusted i became with her. she’d lived her childhood as a complete “winner”. she wasn’t poor. she was blessed with spectacular parents, a good community, lovings siblings, and a warm, religious home. and she was still a “winner” now when it came to her kids.. and she didn’t even provide for us the warmth and happiness that she had. that was the most selfish thing i had ever heard.
the more i learned about my father, the more i liked him. or at least, could sympathize with him. in my childhood he’d always been the one i’d found “scarier”. as i got older i realized that he was only scary to me because he raised his voice a bit louder and cursed a bit more. my mother told me, with disdain, that “if she knew how he’d been raised by his father”, she may have not married him. i was truly disgusted at her in that moment. would she want someone to say that about me? “if i had known how she’d been raised by that mother of hers, i may not have married her.” because as far as i know, she’s doing a pretty shitty job herself.
my mother was a hypocrite. she told me to stick to my morals and yet she didn’t stick to hers. every time we talked i could see her becoming more and more like the “scary” father of my childhood. she was becoming the very person she had told herself she wouldn’t become, and i couldn’t accept that. it was cowardly, in my opinion. at least my father had always been the same, if not an improvement upon himself. but my mother was unpredictable, scary as fuck, and gave me just enough love to still “like” her, which was just messed up.
as she became shittier, my dad became nicer. i found that i couldn’t truly say i loved them anymore… had i ever?! i said it as a way to appease them, to try not to piss them off.. but every talk ended in an argument, so i tried to avoid them as much as possible.
i tried to understand my mother. maybe she was a “winner” as a child.. but in her marriage she was certainly not one. but then again, my father wasn’t either. and yet he treated me fine. i thought it was disgustingly selfish for them to stay in this marriage, when obviously they were fucking up everything in their wake. people like that shouldn’t even breed. there should be a law against it. it’s inhumane.
because my mom was a “loser” in her marriage, and even though she was a “winner” when it came to her kids, she was still miserable, i changed my theory yet again. i decided that “in life, everyone becomes a ‘loser’ eventually.” that theory was very short-lived, and wrought with self-pity. some people go through life completely blessed. completely happy. complete “winners”. they are beautiful. they have good grades, are perfect at everything, and everybody around them loves them. everything they touch seemingly turns to gold. they marry, raise beautiful families, grow old and die with a smile on their face, a completely fulfilled life.
in a world of “winners” and “losers”, i realized that no one wins and no one loses the actual game, but we are pawns, and there are still “winners” and there are still “losers”, and ultimately, death is the prize.
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day 291
he’s coming back.
greg
is coming back
and when i heard this i
fell
right where i was
on my knees to the ground and wept
crying, “father, father”
because i always knew
i never stopped believing
that god wouldn’t just let things end like this
thank you lord
thank you greg
he’s
coming back for me.
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she said that
children were a gift from god
and we lay in wait in heaven with him
and when the conditions were right,
we’d be sent into a family,
to earth.
and when i think about it now,
that was a pussy answer.
it made it sound like all mothers were the virgin mary.
or like soul society.
more like soul society.
because in all honesty
if god threw me down on this earth
down on the dirt
alone and hungry and cold
he would have done a better job
than this family i’m stuck with now
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i guess that’s it
i really couldn’t say it?
couldn’t
admit it?
or was i scared
or was i
really that insecure
still that insecure?
couldn’t tell him the truth for once
in the
thirteen years i’ve known him?
couldn’t say it
not
i love you
or
i want you
but
i need you
i need you
i fucking need you right now because
you are the last thing left
the last person who could
possibly love me
and i know you don’t but i
need you anyway
i love you so much
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i love you
and i think slowlyslowly we are rebuilding
or maybe there were
no walls to destroy
no heart to break
until now
maybe it was all in my head
we are not rebuilding
we are not
starting anew
we are
creating something completely new, completely foreign and
unexplored
for the first time
and i’m not sure which is more beautiful
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some days i wish someone would find this blog and be like wow
but only
only after i die
i want to
i want to die.
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i can’t imagine myself with
anyone else but you
someone wake me up from this daydream because
everything in my whole heart screams out
no
but i can’t stop
can’t stop
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and i wonder why
why
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we found love in a hopeless place.
i notice him from across the room. and i feel it instantly. attraction. just… a magnetic sort of attraction. i’ve never been one for love at first sight, it’s always seemed like bullshit to me. and this isn’t love. but he’s there and i’m there and the way we’re looking at each other, two people out of an entire ocean of bodies, there’s got to be a reason. before i know it, the music gets louder. and as the night goes on the crowd gets drunker and higher and more animalistic. we eyefuck all night. and like most guys in places like this, he approaches me. instead of playing hard to get like i usually do, i impulsively turn and walk toward him too. we don’t even say a word. and he holds my face so gently, in a way i know i won’t ever forget, and our lips move closer and closer and i feel his on mine, surprisingly smooth and wet and soft and we’re kissing and our tongues are caressing each other and our hands are everywhere. he tastes like vodka and sugar and lime. it’s an explosion of random pent-up emotions. kissing a stranger. adrenaline. fireworks. and in that moment we are alone in that crowd of people, not in love but alone and interested and not bored.
and that starts everything, the late night phone calls and silly drunk dials and serenading over video chats and clandestine hookups in the senior lounge, and plenty of other things that i would find appalling and inappropriate and humiliating if it was someone i actually cared about, but since i didn’t, i had no regrets.
but i grew to love those nights, where he’d come to pick me up after my parents were in bed even though he only had his permit, and we’d kiss in his car until morning or he’d take me to beautiful places whose names i can’t remember, and we’d get high and make out and we’d wrap ourselves together in a blanket and say we loved each other even though we didn’t. we always said those three words when we weren’t sober, or we thought we were about to lose each other.
he never actually asked me to be his girlfriend. i never actually knew what i was to him, but i didn’t care. i didn’t think about it because it didn’t matter to me. he didn’t matter to me. my friends laughed and called me heartless. they said that i only saw him as “a penis on legs”. and that’s how it was, in the beginning. he was a pair of lips. a six-pack. a tongue. strong arms and skilled hands. you know what i mean. but soon he was a kiss on the forehead, a warm body pressed against mine, arms that involuntarily encircled me while he was asleep, stubble against my cheek, a sleepy voice in my ear when the morning came. he was a hand that pulled me away from the men in new york, screaming “who the fuck do you think you’re touching? that’s my fucking girlfriend, you assholes.”
and that was the end of the beginning, the beginning of the end. the so-called “honeymoon”. my friends would ask what the fuck was going on and i’d say i didn’t know. after that day we kind of resigned ourselves to being a couple. it was kind of a grudging agreement, one moaned syllable at a time. we were never level-headed people who made good, well thought out decisions. we acted on impulse and we just.. wanted. i didn’t love him, but i wanted him, more and more of him. he’d pin me down. he’d kiss me desperately. i knew he felt the same. we’d wake up in the middle of the night to do it all over again, and it hurt more to part at dawn, just hours before school. he’d trail kisses on me, and made it clear that i was the one he wanted. it was confusing. but it was the way things were.
i won’t deny it. as much as it’s romantic, in a weird way, to say we never loved each other, that would be a lie. there was something real there. we chose each other. and although our relationship (if it can even be called that) was based on drugs, horniness, and drunken promises, we fell for each other. hard. i loved him so much. his voice, the way he said my name. the way he would pull me closer without ever waking up. the way he refused to finish until i did. it was the things he did, not just the way he looked anymore. i loved kissing his stubbly cheek as he smiled the first little smile he did when he woke up. that was what i loved about him. even if we fought the night before, even if i slept with my back to him all night, i’d wake up wrapped in his embrace. and he’d always wake up and smile at me. always. and everything melted away when i saw him smile. even if i had screamed that i was going to leave him just hours before.. i wanted that smile to be mine. forever. i wanted him to only smile like that for me. and for once in my life, i felt… lucky. like things were going perfectly.
we met while drunk, fucked while drunk, said we loved each other while drunk. and of course, it ended while we were drunk, too.
of course we fought.
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sixteen
when will i escape
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your words fall like single drops of rain
like teardrops
and i wish to catch them on my tongue and taste them, taste you
but the rain turns to hail
falls like bullets on my heart
and i am left bruised and empty
broken and unfulfilled
and you
you, my love
you are nobody else.
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fifteen years old and floundering
a shallow mind,
a heavy heart
the yoke of years and years of lies
of life itself
fifteen years old she falls overboard
forever ruined and lifeless
her once luminous eyes dulled and tearstained
her heart withered and dry
fifteen years old she is deflowered by suffering
fifteen years old she has been lied to
believed every second of it
been reduced to a meaningless cliché
fifteen years old she has known love
and she does not like the taste of it.
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if my life was a tv show, mad people would be shipping me and david so hard
like i can see it now
fangirls screaming at their laptops and macbooks and tv sets
“OMG KISS NOW” and “OMG WTF WHY”
and
“OH MY FUCKING GOD YOU GUYS ARE SO STUPID”
oh my life
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I’m Hollow
(Source: sheistheforever)
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things i want
- to die
- for my mom to not be an asshole
- kettle one on the rocks with lime
- more clothes
- chili
- friends
- a boyfriend
- to hook up with someone
- summer
- perfect skin
- perfect body
- longer hair
- to not be me
sheistheforever
