here I am again
here between the person that I am and the person that everyone can see
I try so hard to understand their way, their movements, their slick little jokes. But I dont. And it's ok, because I am a vagina in the end, and I need not know, it's better that way actually. They trust me more, and feel safer letting their little guards down, because I am not "aware".
Just put a few more beers into me, and line me up with friday night. Say, hey look its fire, right here in the middle of you, and i'll be back sometime later, please don't say you miss me somewhere out between yourself and all that really is.
*alone*
these brief few seconds where I stand completely inebriated and left to die in my own excesses. I shouldn't be this way, it is not who I am, but who is that anymore?
Both of them, out at band practice. It's like I stand between two things always, looking left and looking right and realizing there is no communing them, just outright accept defeat and move on to the next phase of your life. Except again, there is the duality, the plural that is teddy bears and Elvis on a cold winter night.
It seems so very hard to understand me, when I get this way I don't mean to be. I can't quite even keep up to myself, but now i'm putting it here on faux paper for the world to see and this is not really the me I think I am, but some drug induced carbon copy of the person I keep inside for that special day when the world opens up and I become whatever the fuck it is I feel pecking at the base of my spine.
If only that day could come without this outside injection, but I realize that the bonds we forged back in the day weren't entirely just masturbation. Today watching Daddy/Jon shoot my father's gun and sound so big and look so perfect there I realize that with just a few short words and breaths I could be living in some parallel universe where all my deepest dreams come true.
But it is not to be, I understand. We all go out and make our own whatever the fuck and if I'm riding the waves right now, its only to save my energy for the eventual push that drives them off and puts me back down into myself.
But my reprive was short, and they return anon with more beer to augment the fire and to keep them slick and full and fun. (but we're all in love with the man who returns later, just none of us can say...he is our sun, our moon, or sky. Whatever, in the end, it means that we all just breathe until he's near...who would have though that's why I belong, but alas)
