I'll always be alone

Stranded and hooked up
To not one, but a dozen (young/old) men


And.....I'll finish this later because I completely forgot what I was planning to write.

"I've got a girlfriend, but I'm not dead."

I think I'm starting to understand boys.
Well, you know, since I don't even look at girls anymore.

No, really, I'm fine.

I should have made this a while ago because everything I have to say is old.
Like, April 6th old. And this is no poetry.

Way later, words later, thoughts later, blank later:
I am ready to die, but so reluctant to let go.
I am an unfinished story.
I hope so hard that I'm given the chance to complete things.
We are of a neverending existence. We've never been happier than this, and we have never been more hopeless, sad, and falsely fortuned. Yet, this is us in the whole of everything we've ever had. All we have is what we see, what we feel, and that we are, in fact, alive while these things are passing through us.
In a way, I wish I could die at this moment because, to be honest, I'm afraid of the (un)predictability of tomorrow and all of this week.
What will happen when Sunday comes and all of a sudden, fifteen is gone?
Will I ever again be answered?
Through it all, though, I realize that this is the purview of my life and what is entitled to it. So, if the moment were to come, and though I'd be scared without anyone's hand to hold, I would accept the pause in existence that we have called death.
That isn't to say that I want to die. All I mean is that indestructability has found its way in moving in my direction.
I want to see what's next for me and for whatever else is a part of me.
There is so much that I already have that it brings me hope for its evolution.
As people of the twenty first century, we let ourselves believe that we need so much more.
We need what is, or isn't, past the horizon.
But for me, right now, Lake Michigan is the end of the world.
There is nothing past the hills and mountains of Portland.

I have this
and all I can do
is...the only thing I can do.

I can try to salvage what sometimes seems to be slipping
without surrendering,
without fighting,
and instead, by understanding.
I am remarkably sad, and
I am remarkably ________.
If my first attempt does not work, so be it.
I'll be even sadder and much more hurt, but I will take it somehow.
Something tells me that there is really no end.
I am deeply in love
with more
than a human or two.
We can start over, but I'm not making a decision yet because I haven't even met you.
We're friends, but we haven't made each other yet.
I'll be damned if I'm proven wrong and I still believe in double meaning.
The opposite of right is not wrong,
it's left.
There's a way out.
We've got flashlights and five senses, just in case.

"It's like you wanna pick her up...

...and put her somewhere else."


This is ancient. Like Greece, and shit. Why it matters, now, I'm not sure:

Yes, life is beautiful.
It's hard, but so worth it.

And damn, it feels good to make peace.
Believe me, it still hurts and always will. I read my journal over and over sometimes and feel like everything I felt was a waste; it makes me sad. But then I look at what else is there.
Now I understand the excitement. The splendid aura of contentment. The overwhelming magnitude of belonging, of happening.
He can do more for you than he could for me. And the other way around.
The way it was, it would have never changed. Going around in circles gets people no where.
So, I'm content. I'm okay.
I don't have a reason to lie anymore. None of us do.
Some things make sense. I had the word "just" in between "things" and "make," but I took it out because it's not just. It's a lot. It's so much more.
There's gotta be more.

I think I know you.
I think we've met before.

Happy Birthday, baby.

Baby, baby, baby

This is for the drinkers, the fire starters, the wishful thinkers.
Fuck, anyone with a mind, really.