My life is stress. I don't know how to write anymore. That's why I don't.
My dad is an ass. An alcoholic ass and why does that still surprise me after all of this time. Oh, Alyssa and I both like coke! he says and then chuckles and I dont know if anybody else catches the emphasis he put on the word but I do. As if it is funny to joke about a time in my life that I never want to revisit. A time filled with mirrors and razor blades and artificial faerie dust and damn I used to be so fucked up.
Oh and I am not even mentioning my dad standing inches from my face with his fist raised, a crazy look in his eye, screaming at the top of his lungs that he is going to punch me drunk. We won't even go there right now.
Seeing my dad always makes me miss my Grandpa even more. He was my real dad. He cared about me. He did anything and everything to help me. He wanted nothing more in this world than for me and Sarah to be happy and successful and taken care of. He was strong and he fought past all of the pain he ever felt. He never let the pain own him.
My whole life is happening at once. All of time. A million worlds rotating at once. I am spinning a flag for the first time while I am losing control of that car. I am lying in the hospital, that sweet old man nurse kissing my forehead and telling me my neck is broken while I am standing there clutching my grandfather's hand, his heart beat slowing as the red headed nurse's eyes fill up with tears, I'm so sorry, he's going. I am playing barbies with my little sister as I am watching my niece take her first unsteady steps in this world. I am climbing the steps of the student center to the fifteenth floor with the most beautiful girls in the world while I am stumbling drunk through a million dark and smoky bars. I am riding the train into Chicago with my best friend for the first time while I am seated next to the love of my life, plunging down a giant drop on a roller coaster at Six Flags Over Texas as we laugh at the top of our lungs.
My best friend from
home
texts me and
nine years was so
goddamn long ago
but sometimes it was
yesterday
coffee, cigarettes and poetry
three things I haven't touched
in ages but
there were years when
I couldn't breathe without them
Loading comments...