flynnfromblakely

  it had been hard on us. cold in the new air and the widest skies ever seen that you could get lost in. people know this isn’t your home. different language, different words unallowed  unwanted losing love for apathy back then just as it is now forcing through the wilderness only to be called wild yourself. hated for your language and your name.  back then as it is now. before the country was a country the others still learned to loath anyone that wasn’t them. back then just as it is now pushing away the very people who would make the world a better place back then just as it is now.

  i don’t know why she’s crying. the girl sitting on the floor screaming because it’s too loud too much or she’s hungry  or something. what does she want? she’s the one who wanted to turn up on a saturday night at a family gathering ( a birthday? or christmas ) and demanded we go home. she can’t even tell me why. she doesn’t like the noise ( calm music and them talking ) she doesn’t like the lights ( one lightbulb keeps flickering ) or the people or the conversation ( my kid cousins, always screaming ) so she puts in her earbuds and  sulks. i have things to do i have texts to reply i hate it here i’m being dramatic go home go home i’m annoying they hate me they hate me i hate it finally  i stand and go to grab some of my aunt’s seasoned salmon and those rustic potatoes  that still taste classy somehow? and a glass of apple juice. without ice . she’s so picky, for being almost grown. i sit and offer them to her,  and just for a moment, like a small, chaotic ...

  human relations, people attempt to communicate through space suits; they are bound by categories often seem to have a dark screen between selves and the world, distorting perception. alienated unduly constricted in expressing they have lost their capacity for childhood; shut off from  fantasies and feelings. most question the continual effort to attain more contact and tolerate restraint or  limitation.   alienated youths, search for self-expression. to remedy wrongs/to reform society. an interest in writing, the theater, or painting as attempts to communicate an audience; alienated, external internal: write for them structure experience as catharsis, to reveal to an outer audience. desire for expression becomes effort to organize not obscure to order the chaos   The meaning  is to escape and avoid the futures, hemmed in and constrained.

  my house  didn’t explode into being- no Big Bang or a supernova, dying star. it was built up  little by little bricks for words heard or sights i saw. i am supposed to be a genius. i can’t fail but i am small and sobbing  into  my mother’s arms in kindergarten because i want to know why i can’t be good because i made my teacher cry and i don’t understand what i did wrong. i lay a foundation, push my fingerprints into the concrete like a hollywood star in a creature’s body. still crying in fifth grade because i was at the top  of someone’s list of bad people to punish. they caught him before action but i would’ve been first, sitting numb at the plastic green tables maybe if i seal myself in the walls i’ll be okay. i am supposed to be genius. aren’t people supposed to like a genius? they shouldn’t want a girl dead who still sleeps with stuffed animals and fairy lights crying in eighth grade because of words traded  in a park after school. i am physical...

  i want to hurt worse, sometimes i don’t know why - i wish sometimes i went through more, to justify why i’m so sore - and if i was victim of some crime, i wouldn’t want to wonder why i want to hurt sometimes. maybe if i was hit by a car  and almost broke my spine, i’d have reason to worry every time i had to drive. i wonder why i want to hurt sometimes. if everyone i knew was always cruel if my loved ones didn’t treat me well,  it’d explain why i lose my cool and failure feels like hell. i really shouldn’t want more pain what kind of person would choose, to twist normal scenarios into a horrible way to lose? what kind of person wants to hurt sometimes?

  -for girls with big girls  i am my own Switzerland. i am neutral to me, carefully tiptoeing lines because i can’t be ugly because i can’t be vain. to speak either way would be autonomous war- my curves versus my edges. because my comfort can be pushed aside if i can look like more or less. shouldn’t i be so grateful, the harlot i must be to have a build that puts my chest squarely above a C? don’t i want that? shouldn’t i flaunt that? shouldn’t i be ashamed and hide my chest? because only a red dress girl only a night woman would wear a fitted tee a turtleneck  she surely must have had them put in  for attention!  and a good girl doesn’t want attention. so i stay neutral for my own good.