| Have you ever pulled clumps of mud out of your eye? Because it can happen. Trust me. Showers are most satisfying when you're really dirty. Why does reading about Mexico (or is it Kerouac?) remind me of Counting Crows? Now I'm coughing, painfully, like the old artist man. I breathed so much dust. My throughts have Mexican accents. I want to live somewhere where I am the one with the accent. Now a picture to remember a guy in an upstairs restraunt, all lit up blue, with a fishing pole off the side, and on the end of the hook is a sign "Free Tequila" which he's hanging at eye level or putting on the ground. Later I saw this man again, and a man with his daughter, and the man kept saying to her in a baby voice "what's he fishing for? is he fishing for sharks?" and the girl looked at him like he was an idiot, which he was. I'm at the beautiful Frida bar, beautiful Frida looking at me from all sides, but all I can think about is the promises, the ones you made to take me to the movie but you were always too busy and then you weren't, and you took her. This isn't right, it can't be. I can't believe it could be. Your mother gave me beautiful books but you could not take me to the movie and I can't remember why not, and things soon changed and I don't remember why, and you took her, because you have morals but they're all the wrong ones and you have loyalty but it has an on/off switch.How could I forgive you everything, even if I wanted to, if I tried? I can't, but in the spirit of Frida I will, she was much better at forgiveness than me. I read like a beast because I can't bear to think about my OWN life. I feel like I'm missing out- I want to have my own life and that includes thinking about it, and I wish I could, perhaps someday. But I so hate putting things off- carpe diem- because we could die any day- anyone I know could die any moment and I don't want to miss out, I want everything I ever want to happen to happen as soon as possible, before I or anyone else involved dies. What if that happens? Think of all the time wasted. The fragility of life scares me. I want to get everything in. I never really knew Katie Fox but she taught me more than anyone ever has. I'll never be so clean, so polished- my nails are dirty, uneven, nailpolish cracked. My skin is dry as is my hair- I've always loved hands but never my own. I've always admired but never understood girls with clean perfect nails. Perhaps I'll get a manicure, cheat, like most of them probably do. But even that word sounds shallow- manicure. My hands are me, used for so much- I can only expect them to be what they are. I work with my hands. Sometimes I like what they do. Sometimes others like what they do- and I mean that more than one way- but in any case they're only working, artist hands, and I can use them to make everything else beautiful but never themselves. Still, I place great value in hands. Perhaps I'll get them fixed. I need and want to become a better person, but I can only identify so many of my faults. YOU know me inside and out. I need YOU to tell me what else needs improvement. Find me my biggest faults so that I may (or may not) decide to change them. I don't understand why you won't do this to me. What are you afraid of? Stop clinging to your ideas about people not being able to change, stop clinging to your modesty or whatever it is that stops you from being honest with me about this. You've already given me the biggest insult of all and I'm still here asking for more. What could a little constructive criticism hurt? I want to be better in every way. Not for you, you may be a lost cause- who knows, we'll see- but for me, and for everyone I have contact with in the future. Please. This you can do for me. In this way you can help me. You always say "I wish I could help you" and that's silly, because you could in a lot of ways, but this is the only one I would expect you to. I'm not asking you to change a thing. Tu es ma belle ami (pas beau, parce que that's not what I mean right now.) Be always my belle ami. You'll always be belle. Be now and forever my ami. I am wrong and I am sorry and at the moment I am calm. "An inevitable enhancement of our friendship" your words. But now, there's no friendship. You're not a clean slate that I need you to be in order for friendship to get it's footing. I pray that you will be, after this summer, I hope I'll be able to be with you without you being afraid of me. But I can't know. I wish I could. I need you to be a clean start or I need everyone else to be. I don't know if I should leave. I wish I knew so much more than I know. I HATE you. It's so unfair that you have her (word is spat, like poison) and haven't suffered a speck and you don't miss me a bit and I have nothing because there's nothing left for me in Chelsea. Never again will I fail to line up replacements, under some illusion of loyalty or false ideas that "love" means something, that "love" means "only you." How could I have let this happen? How could you? How could I believe in anything? Believe you, a man, could be truthfully in love with little ole me and have no interests elsewhere? That you could get rid of an interest once you had it? I guess I never truly believed that one, and I was right not to. Why didn't I make an ultimatum when you first admitted it? "Her or me." and then I would've known. I wanted to, I really did, but as with everything else I was too scared. I'm nothing but a scared little girl, shaking and crying on a slept in hotel bed, soggy and dripping, clothes stretched out, bagging, nails chipped, legs shaved hastily-this description makes it sound like I was raped, maybe I was somehow- Who am I? No one except this. No one but scared and I want to be brave but its so hard to be brave and not just pretend. Life isn't fair but it shouldn't be cruel should it? You are God's favorite in this situation, I hope you count your blessings, I hope you enjoy her, I hope you're happy now. "and are you thinking of me when you fuck her?" That songs been ringing in my head for weeks and I hate it, not the song, but the fact taht it's exactly how I feel. I don't want to be bitter. I want to be sweet. I want to be everything you thought you fell in love with, so that you or someone else can fall in love with it, or think so, anyway. If my legs were tan and my hair cut short would you hate me? Would it matter? I had a dream I went to McDonalds for pincurls but they cut it all off and I cried, over hair, that you liked, because I was afraid you'd never like it again...and I looked in the mirror and it looked like hers, now, short and thin and I pulled it back into a barrette and cried some more. |