crazy

Sometimes I think I'm so self-absorbed that I'll never get to be that person. Because lately I just can't stand people. Really, I've never been able to stand them, but I can't stand on my own either. It's this delicate, easily broken balance that makes me hate my innards, more than any sole pimple, bad hair day, or twenty-extra pounds ever could.

I want to be able to fuck the world over, shake the foundations of my bit of earth, and do it with the complete knowledge that I have the stuff to back it up. I want to be that person. I want to be remembered, I want to be indifferent and composed and not care, and stop second guessing. I want to be confident in my silence, I want a smirk and a disposition that can't be shook. I want to waltz, and strut, and swagger with the fumbling grace that is me. I want and I want.

It's a healthy reaction to life though, isn't it? Of course it is. Wanting is pure expression of humanity, and it's weakness and strength all balled into one.

I think what I really want is a grand explosion, so colorful, heated and fiery. I want an exceedingly coarse, unrefined, and ugly explosion. I want the chains to be melted. I want the words to fly with no restraint, no forced cheer. I want the truth, and I want to spit and spew it. I don't know that I would care for the bite I'd get in return. I want the blast to push me farther than I could ever dream of going.

Now it's all I can do, fantasizing, obsessing, over this one, monumental boom. I don't think it'll ever happen. I would get burnt all over my body in the process and my skin would never be the same again. It's logical to want to avoid such a blast, and yet, I can't stop visioning the utter destructive force of what it could be. The utter loveliness.

I get tired much too easily, and for all my bravado, I’m pathetically sensitive and not immune to the exhaustion. I'm tired of social contracts between people who are more than strangers, even though I understand it perfectly, this balance of someone to rule and someone to serve. This whole life is a hierarchy (not that it's any revelation) and everyone and everything has its place. And for feeling like a lowly servant at times, the one thing I don't want is pity or cheap words of encouragement -- not they can't be appreciated or even yearned after. Only I need to earn all my sparkling confidence, me, myself, I. No one else can do that for me, and it can’t be instilled artificially.

It all comes back, as things always do, to breaking the zigzags and letting them disappear, letting all the small worries and even the big ones be swallowed in howling laughter.

So I end this here, with my bitter, resentful attitude, with those vague touches of that disgusting sense of optimism. I know what I can‘t stand, and what I can‘t face, but contempt for everything around me is by far the easiest way, the most cowardly way, to live. Nothing’s fair, and everything’s relative, but that's okay. It has to be in order to be able to function.

I spend a disproportionate amount of time trying not to sound pathetic or needy, but all arguments are for nothing. All I’m trying to do is cover all the cracks, so no one can get in on my defenses. Humbling or annoying? Shameful comes to mind. Though there are small slivers, small voices in my crazy little head that tell me to harness my excess pride (the result of shame, didn‘t you know), ride the waves as they come, and have some damn lady balls.

One day, for sure, I will get my piece of land, no matter how small, and I will fucking own it.

So until then, I'll keep yearning for that uplifting explosion. Boom, bang, bam.

Just like that.