A Collection of Spectacles


i should nickname every boy i lay with. so that when i’m old and the real names have all turned into blank spaces at least i’ll have something to hold onto. or maybe i’ll write them all down like case studies. i’m sick.

this past weekend was eventful. 

i’d call him america because he reminded me of everything name brand that annoys me. everything that is wrong with the average product here (placed in the best packaging but the item inside is lacking in some respects) and was unhealthily attached to the phone. in the land of the disposable everything, he is used to serve a purpose and is then easily discarded afterward.  

maybe i should come attached with a list of rules and stipulations. the most important one being that i don’t have any to begin with. part of me could see this becoming a habit. i could simply leave bits of myself lying around in different bedrooms (breadcrumbs strewn here and there). i wonder if something inside is still trying to pick them up and find its way back to a path. then again, what’s the use of following the road to self-improvement anyway? and who’s to say that my way of going about these matters is bad? if i don’t know life’s end result then why not take time out to soak in the forest of self-indulgence?

 not much is left. 

i hate contrived machismo. the forced lack of emotion is always apparent. it’s insulting to people who really can’t care anymore. 

i’m done worrying about conventional prettiness. women should sink into self assuredness and stop wanting to disassemble the body they see in the mirror. sometimes how you’re perceived is a direct reflection of what you think of yourself. likewise the quantity or quality of who you’re with can’t be relied on as an appropriate measure of attractiveness so there’s no use in wasting life insecure. dismantle a girl’s femininity completely and she never wins the date. hide every trace of masculinity and she becomes paper-thin, unable to combat hardships. most are born with a decent balance between the two but some willingly give up parts of themselves as time goes on. 

part of me can’t wait until i leave. i’ve emotionally purged my body of my naive former self in this town. i’ll leave behind a captivating corpse but that’s about all. 

12 and spending a summer in brooklyn. my aunt forces me to make friends with a girl on the block so i won’t be lonely (but how could i be? i’m an only child. i’ve learned to make a sport out of loneliness) i hate everything about her because she is pushy and arrogant and annoying. she likes to climb to the top of the stairs and tell me we’re going somewhere. when i don’t want to go she says i’m leaving you. these words in particular always make me follow.

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