I wish I could say, somehow, that everything is OK, but it is not. To be blunt, it is not.
Why do your kisses haunt me in the same way the memories of child suicide bombers haunt Vietnam vets in their sleep? Not a day goes by that I don't remember the voice I heard on the phone tonight and I wish to God I didn't.
Tomorrow, you will be close to that girl in your bed and you love her the way you should have loved me but didn't and I can tell by the rising inflection of delight in your voice that you never talked about me this way.
Oh God not this again.
If I could spill a bit of my 40 on the sidewalk for every lover i've lost I wouldn't have much to drink.
At this point, I need much to drink.
Tell me no more tales and spare me the Arabian Nights melodrama of love. I want facts, facts I say. The facts are that 1/10 women is gay so I only have 1/10th of the chance a straight man does of finding his dream woman.
Brotha, can you feel me?
And statistics show that women are more cunning because they utilize more of the brain that has to do with manipulation and strategizing than men, who choose to act instead of plot.
Sista, can I get an Amen?
I will do anything to trick you into thinking I am loveable.
But I don't understand how that could possibly be since I am rapidly losing my ability to be cuddly, when each day I wade deeper into a cactus patch of happenings and must pull the needles out one by one in a neat, orderly fashion.
I would do anything to be restored to the newly turned 19 year old fresh faced babydyke that thought she could be walking down 18th and Castro and just magically bump into the woman of her dreams.
I can't be that anymore. I can't be so many things anymore. I can't even be a hero anymore.
I see myself plunging headlong into darkness and horror, gripping at metal railing and panicking at the incremental rise in speed.
No, not thrilling. Just irreversible.
I see myself becoming cruel and jaded and at least before I could only hate circumstance but now i'm learning to hate myself for not having any hope, for being such a fool to even let myself get to this point, and perhaps I wouldn't even be so jaded if I would have at least been more selective in the first place.
But I wanted to know. I wanted to know it all. And who the fuck really knows if it was worth it.
So here I am now vowing to call dimwitted girls I have nothing in common with who say "Call me sometime, I really, REALLY like you" and then throwing away their numbers because God knows you can't find love in a club
And here I am now ignoring Sherry inviting me to come with her to sex clubs because there "you really CAN get a lot of sex without any attachment!"
And here I am now not knowing what other ways to make my presence known to the SF lesbo community and thinking it isn't even worth it since they all look like Drew Carey
remembering the girl that I repeatedly swore was "the most beautiful girl in the world"
cursing the fates for putting me in the wrong place at the wrong time
wondering when I can make a change instead of crying about it
wanting to destroy everything because the erratic nature of existence bothers me
hoping to God someone will think I am beautiful and worth loving ONE more fucking time in my life before I am 63 and I die
turning the hatred inwards because then it can't hurt anyone else
knowing knowing knowing that when you told me tonight, "I freaked out and yelled at you when you said you loved me because I knew I felt the same way...I loved you too" broke my heart harder than anything anyone has ever told me in my life and that I would rather damage myself and make everything filthy than let my good intentions scare off the world
praying fervently that one day I will not be horrific, that I will mean everything to someone that matters and then remembering
there isn't a God and if there is, he hates me.
She's the one your father loves, the one your neighborhood loves, the one who brags about you to her own friends so they marvel over what a cute couple you are.
I think I hate both of you for being so perfect
And I think I hate myself for realizing I was the ho and that I almost fucked it up for both of you
And I think I hate myself for 20 other reasons one for each year i've lived, dreaming of nothing but being like you two and
falling short because i'm so beastly that no one wants to touch me.
So fuck suburbia and fuck the lemon trees and fuck the femmey housewife and fuck the fence building in the yard and fuck the golden retriever named Skip and fuck the renting of videos for a tame night in and fuck the telling my family that yes, I do have a girlfriend now and we will come for Christmas and fuck the hope
that this will ever be real.
Why do your kisses haunt me in the same way the memories of child suicide bombers haunt Vietnam vets in their sleep? Not a day goes by that I don't remember the voice I heard on the phone tonight and I wish to God I didn't.
Tomorrow, you will be close to that girl in your bed and you love her the way you should have loved me but didn't and I can tell by the rising inflection of delight in your voice that you never talked about me this way.
Oh God not this again.
If I could spill a bit of my 40 on the sidewalk for every lover i've lost I wouldn't have much to drink.
At this point, I need much to drink.
Tell me no more tales and spare me the Arabian Nights melodrama of love. I want facts, facts I say. The facts are that 1/10 women is gay so I only have 1/10th of the chance a straight man does of finding his dream woman.
Brotha, can you feel me?
And statistics show that women are more cunning because they utilize more of the brain that has to do with manipulation and strategizing than men, who choose to act instead of plot.
Sista, can I get an Amen?
I will do anything to trick you into thinking I am loveable.
But I don't understand how that could possibly be since I am rapidly losing my ability to be cuddly, when each day I wade deeper into a cactus patch of happenings and must pull the needles out one by one in a neat, orderly fashion.
I would do anything to be restored to the newly turned 19 year old fresh faced babydyke that thought she could be walking down 18th and Castro and just magically bump into the woman of her dreams.
I can't be that anymore. I can't be so many things anymore. I can't even be a hero anymore.
I see myself plunging headlong into darkness and horror, gripping at metal railing and panicking at the incremental rise in speed.
No, not thrilling. Just irreversible.
I see myself becoming cruel and jaded and at least before I could only hate circumstance but now i'm learning to hate myself for not having any hope, for being such a fool to even let myself get to this point, and perhaps I wouldn't even be so jaded if I would have at least been more selective in the first place.
But I wanted to know. I wanted to know it all. And who the fuck really knows if it was worth it.
So here I am now vowing to call dimwitted girls I have nothing in common with who say "Call me sometime, I really, REALLY like you" and then throwing away their numbers because God knows you can't find love in a club
And here I am now ignoring Sherry inviting me to come with her to sex clubs because there "you really CAN get a lot of sex without any attachment!"
And here I am now not knowing what other ways to make my presence known to the SF lesbo community and thinking it isn't even worth it since they all look like Drew Carey
remembering the girl that I repeatedly swore was "the most beautiful girl in the world"
cursing the fates for putting me in the wrong place at the wrong time
wondering when I can make a change instead of crying about it
wanting to destroy everything because the erratic nature of existence bothers me
hoping to God someone will think I am beautiful and worth loving ONE more fucking time in my life before I am 63 and I die
turning the hatred inwards because then it can't hurt anyone else
knowing knowing knowing that when you told me tonight, "I freaked out and yelled at you when you said you loved me because I knew I felt the same way...I loved you too" broke my heart harder than anything anyone has ever told me in my life and that I would rather damage myself and make everything filthy than let my good intentions scare off the world
praying fervently that one day I will not be horrific, that I will mean everything to someone that matters and then remembering
there isn't a God and if there is, he hates me.
She's the one your father loves, the one your neighborhood loves, the one who brags about you to her own friends so they marvel over what a cute couple you are.
I think I hate both of you for being so perfect
And I think I hate myself for realizing I was the ho and that I almost fucked it up for both of you
And I think I hate myself for 20 other reasons one for each year i've lived, dreaming of nothing but being like you two and
falling short because i'm so beastly that no one wants to touch me.
So fuck suburbia and fuck the lemon trees and fuck the femmey housewife and fuck the fence building in the yard and fuck the golden retriever named Skip and fuck the renting of videos for a tame night in and fuck the telling my family that yes, I do have a girlfriend now and we will come for Christmas and fuck the hope
that this will ever be real.
VIEW 3 of 3 COMMENTS
bionicfemme:
Yes.
mistersatan:
IM me sometime- we'll talk.