you know what? fuck it, man. the world is held in the fists of people who like to break things. at this point iām saying who gives a shit. wear that victorian dress you donāt have an excuse for. dress up like a witch, pointed hat and all. who cares anymore. why worry about it when thereās bigger stuff to worry on. iām saying. yeah, this lipstick is too dark, wanna share? iām saying go talk to her, tell her that you like her hair. iām saying sheās out of my league but iām still swinging, iām saying yeah iām in a ballgown and itās a pta meeting. what about it. eat the extra brownie, tell her your feelings. iām saying if nothing matters than we might as well give nothing meaning.
#iām saying if existence is a void at least iām going down screaming.
itās been 9 years since i wrote this. i was experiencing 24/7 anxiety so badly that i needed serious medication. these days in the back of my car is an āemergency party box.ā when people admit they no longer really celebrate their birthday; i tell them to put the sash on and queue up kesha, weāre going bowling or something. these days i canāt spin around without finding something i am enamored with. these days i list 3 things iām grateful for before i fall asleep. youāre probably one of them, just by virtue of you existing.
at the time i wrote this, i was suffering through a severe panic attack literally every night. i tortured my brother with constant 2 AM calls just to hear someone else breathing, because i couldnāt be alone in the silence.
i rarely wish i was still 23 even though ironically i had more hope back then. what i can tell you is this: i love the same way, but bigger now. iāve worn the velvet cape to several business meetings. i spent thursday in a crop top without caring what my stomach looked like.
i told her i like her; i often dress as a witch. i still got glass in my foot this morning. iāve kissed maybe a thousand people since then and met a million more than that; passing like the shadow of a hammerhead in trains and planes and buses.
i saw you, beloved, there, maybe, on platform in south station. you didnāt speak, but you said: i struggle to give the nothing meaning. the nothing fills up everything. it is just loud and yellowed panicked silence. i canāt stop shaking.
on the roof, birds curl together against the chilled spring wind. the sky outside of the craft store was an iridescent pink. the nothing already had meaning; you are giving it meaning by witnessing.
the act of living, beloved: itās just decoding how to translate it.
