notes to myself (like hugh prather)

its like that open wound on my hand
it just won't go away
it stings
and i drink a few glasses of wine and
think i'll stop feeling the pin pricks
but it only gets worse
i feel numb and saddened deeply
deep like my mind in a tunnel

i'm a tunneling rat.
over the last few months
i've learned to forget myself
and my problems
and now they're flooding back
meaningless things were giving me trouble
and now the meaningful things overflow in my glass
like too much red wine

i want a cigarette
but i'm trying to quit because its not healthy
i disapprove of myself
and of my breakthrough bleeding
if i didn't smoke, the pills would work better
and maybe i'd be brave enough to say
i love you.

but i'm not because my heart holds back
it encounters frozen terrain
and only when i'm drunk can i begin to say what i mean.

i remember those bopping heads,
that adorable song.
i'm listening to it now.
"hold my hand when you cut me down"
i feel like kicking my own ass
i'm a wrench, stuck twisting some random piece of metal
hopelessly, i allowed myself to
become "tired of trying... when i don't get nothing back"

i almost punched a wall today.
maybe if i had, i would have broken
the fragile, minuscule, birdlike bones in my hand.
and this would be hurting much less.
a broken hand would be a wonderful distraction.

no one reads these words, so i can say what i want.
my conscience is cleared here.
i always knew he didn't care for me.
i don't know why i allowed that.
never once was there any reaching out to tell me i was special.
no flowers, no postcards, nothing much of anything.
i let myself be walked all over.
as usual.
this is why i find it hard to trust people.
i can't let them in, because they will never like what they see.
they would learn that i am unnecessarily complicated.
as soon as he got a hint of that, he told me i was being too serious.
up up up the subway escalator. "you need to relax"
but he didn't help me relax, not one bit.
i wish so fucking much that he had.

it sent shivers down my spine when it touched my shoulders.
a circular motion. gentle. nails brushing the surface of my skin.
but that's not enough.

it means a lot.
but he doesn't want me.
and that, this time, it breaks my heart.

so, i'm drunk. and wishing i could just sleep all through the day tomorrow.
waking up is going to be hella hard.
its been that way before.
and i just hate that feeling.
its like every bone in my body is heavy and numb
but at the same time i feel everything to the highest degree. in a painful way.
i'll have to drag myself to the surface and splash my face with cold water.

intellectually, things were missing.
i could talk about political bullshit for hours with my big poppa.
we argued like bitches, but it was in the end a good thing.
i miss him, and i still haven't called my only american hero.

challenge is a good thing.
we didn't challenge each other enough.
not once a yelling match.
or any outbursts. maybe that's what was missing.
we didn't talk about much that ever shot my nerve endings.
like a match striking metallic ribbon.
and then when we did it had to do with my heart.
so i couldn't even speak because i was almost crying.

i can't talk when i'm about to cry, if you want to know a secret about me.

now, i'm almost catatonic. staring at the wall, a t.v., a mirror to see my sad blue eyes.
tomorrow, it'll be staring at people on the subway. they'll be uncomfortable. i won't even realize i'm staring.

the worst thing is that tomorrow i'm going to have to pretend to be happy.
cheerful with the customers.
this is life.
i want to move somewhere else.

i just realized
my
heart
is
broken.