Saturday, February 21, 2009
six open word documents.
and i still can't find the words
to make my ideas come to life.
so many sheets of looseleaf
all brimming with potential
but when push comes to shove,
i have nothing to say.
screw it.
i'm moving to hollywood
and becoming an agent.
and i still can't find the words
to make my ideas come to life.
so many sheets of looseleaf
all brimming with potential
but when push comes to shove,
i have nothing to say.
screw it.
i'm moving to hollywood
and becoming an agent.
Thursday, February 19, 2009
to dad-
it occurred to me today that, when i move out in five years time,
we're not going to have a relationship.
that hurts more than anything you could ever have done to me.
do you know what it's like to be eight
and writing in your journal that you're too fat?
to be constantly ridiculed because of your size,
because of your gender, because no matter what you do,
you're just never fucking good enough?
99th percentile umat. a handshake.
99.30 enter. oh, that's nice.
do you know what it's like to hear your father slur his words?
at ten o'clock at night, to have him pass out on the bathroom floor?
to be called a hypocrite for serving the Lord and having depression?
to be ten and for someone you adore to tell you that
noah's ark wasn't real, that all the Bible stories
were just made up to make us believe?
to have to listen to you constantly put down your wife
and to think that objects can make it better?
to hear your father tell you that his idea of your death
was wishful thinking on his part?
time heals all wounds, but it doesn't change a thing.
you'll stop drinking if it'll help you
but you won't do it for your family,
you have no idea that i'm now the same,
that i drink just to get away.
you'll make your fat jokes and yo-yo diet
unaware of what it's doing to us.
i've done starvation. i've done throwing up.
and i'm pretty sure that my sister is doing the same.
you'll deny all this.
and i'm sorry that your childhood was bad.
i'm sorry if it didn't go as planned.
but why are you making us the victims?
because we've done nothing but idolise you.
-jessica.
i don't want to hear your comments.
it's therapy.
it occurred to me today that, when i move out in five years time,
we're not going to have a relationship.
that hurts more than anything you could ever have done to me.
do you know what it's like to be eight
and writing in your journal that you're too fat?
to be constantly ridiculed because of your size,
because of your gender, because no matter what you do,
you're just never fucking good enough?
99th percentile umat. a handshake.
99.30 enter. oh, that's nice.
do you know what it's like to hear your father slur his words?
at ten o'clock at night, to have him pass out on the bathroom floor?
to be called a hypocrite for serving the Lord and having depression?
to be ten and for someone you adore to tell you that
noah's ark wasn't real, that all the Bible stories
were just made up to make us believe?
to have to listen to you constantly put down your wife
and to think that objects can make it better?
to hear your father tell you that his idea of your death
was wishful thinking on his part?
time heals all wounds, but it doesn't change a thing.
you'll stop drinking if it'll help you
but you won't do it for your family,
you have no idea that i'm now the same,
that i drink just to get away.
you'll make your fat jokes and yo-yo diet
unaware of what it's doing to us.
i've done starvation. i've done throwing up.
and i'm pretty sure that my sister is doing the same.
you'll deny all this.
and i'm sorry that your childhood was bad.
i'm sorry if it didn't go as planned.
but why are you making us the victims?
because we've done nothing but idolise you.
-jessica.
i don't want to hear your comments.
it's therapy.