sourlemonhead

[sourlemonhead]

[sourlemonhead]

I stare blankly, numbed by the possibility of prospect. 

[sourlemonhead]

i want to be your favorite girl

(but not your only, i know i’ll never deserve that)

[sourlemonhead]

i love what i know i’ll always be too desperate to have

[sourlemonhead]

i’ll never know who i was  i never recorded my voice i never took a photo my face was missing from everything and every bit of evidence presented a shell i wasn’t who i was you drained me of innocence and life i had no meaning now my only purpose is to find one

[sourlemonhead]

I'm scared of you.

That's something you wouldn't usually put in a letter, as sending and writing a letter involves getting very close, both physically and emotionally. But I don't want to lie, no more than I already have, so I'll start by admitting that you scare me.

I don't know if I truly understand why that's the case, just the same as you probably don't get why you're someone to be feared, but, like most experiences, it probably came from somewhere. You're unpredictable, but daring in that way, you never bite your tongue when it comes to ridiculous, vulgar expulsions. According to you, you never lie, and because of my stupidly speedy infatuation, I believe you, probably with a disregard to my best interest.

Why am I so terrified? I've been through you before, another creature distorted and ghostly, whimpering and tantalizing my loyalty, my commitment. I'm not stuck, I just need to be with myself. That's what I've said in the past, and as of recently your clones crowd my mind, my vision, my inbox, breaking my unspoken promise.

I wish I could let myself listen and grab your attention with my questions, but every time I get close the conversation changes, and you're back to the anxious defense mechanism. It's hard, seeing so much of myself in a person who refuses to turn to the present. I'll help you, I'll listen, and only because I've been told that so much do I avoid the offer, knowing nothing, itself, is worse than risk.

You have an aura around you, an essence of disgust, disdain, judgment. Perhaps you're reflecting your own world, those you've wronged and left a temporary stain with. Although if we go by your rules, in the only serious conversation we've had, you're innocent, and you always will be.

I find it funny that you comfort me yet whenever we interact I can do nothing but worry. What if you don't appreciate the time as much as I do, selfishly and foolishly, as I always continue to be?

I think about this too much, my uneven fingernails scratching at the wallpaper that is your conscience.

[sourlemonhead]

writing is a whole entire thing

recently I haven’t had a ton of motivation to write

it could be because of the holidays or whatever, but regardless I worry that yet another period of suppression is upon me

usually when I run out of things to write about I end up finding one in that issue itself, because if there’s nothing on my mind, that’s usually a problem

satisfaction is a dangerous place

[sourlemonhead]

you’d never look in here

you're too perfect so special you hate me i'm sure or do i just hate myself i'm grouping the two together again our two personas blur too much i'm worrying it's becoming what we said you were with someone else but also i'm doing everything i can so i can hide from you but hiding is exactly what i don't want you to do i'm going to become my least favorite version of someone else in an attempt to stop you from doing the same thing but you're going to hate me because you probably would never go there in the first place precautionary measures, i suppose i should sleep i should eat i should die there are all these things i could do but in the effort to decide my options get slimmer and slimmer and my mind slowly shuts down it's like i'm always asleep which is why you probably hate me so much boring out of it constantly idling away in my room you've always got things going on whenever i have things happening it's interesting it's rare but we have so much fun because we draw conversation from others leech their social credibility and talent for our own pointless profit barely even significant to last a minute conversation our attention span is astonishing i meant what i said personification of attention deficit disorder i spend all my time with you asleep and when i'm without you i dream about laying alongside your sullen body depressing perhaps who knows i say that quite often because who truly knows i don't maybe someone else will tell me the answer one day because deep down i know i can't admit it to myself

[sourlemonhead]

that fits nicely into all our unplanned plans

i hate falling in love i find it rapidly approaching i know i'll spend my nights crying again tears i never thought i could blink again i didn't know i could still cry until i met you you is interchangeable of course, you never were truly the source of my problems but simply a reminder that i would never ever be enough oh all my codependency, my pitiful existence serves as a warning to my future, my past, my lovers i lie to you like i lie to myself i say everything is fine i say i'm okay i've fixed myself with no assistance i tell myself that what made me this way was correct that toughing it out would save me that it would never be an issue that i was exaggerating my words lacing them with a drug powerful enough to hypnotize any willing participant i was deceptive i was the victim how dare i

[sourlemonhead]

it’s awful and cruel

your love is addictive it twists my brain inside and out it puts me in the most depressive state when i'm without it but then when i'm with you everything's okay i have your love always at least i hope i do and that keeps me going when you're not here i imagine you with me all the time i also imagine how i could've done things differently if only i didn't tell you what i did, you would've found out and talked with me if only i didn't tell you an exaggerated reason for my action, you wouldn't have gotten yourself hurt if only id let things go according to plan and not let your love worry me we'd be on the phone right now with me listening to the white noise of your slumber and you dreaming about anything you could i would've told you a story we would've talked a bit and then i would've gone to bed happily and quietly but instead i passed out with an ugly cry a blade in my limp hand and you blacked out with bloodshot eyes forgetting every word and denying your own and i woke, having received no sleep and worrying about your drugged state and you have yet to update me which is okay it's early but still i wonder

[sourlemonhead]

when i meet you

being alone was such a haunting, looming fear that we enjoyed so distantly it was as if our line, the one separating our romantic prospects, was reflective it was as if you were me and i was you but never the same always the converse of the statements themselves you were rebellious towards my distasteful attitude i perfectly fit everything you hated, and our lips would surely leave a bad taste in your mouth i don't think any of it was worth it and my brain allowed itself to be consumed by the loneliness, as i became increasingly more aware of my state with every minute passing with every glistening heart you left in black and white nothing we said meant anything unless it was colorless yet every time your distasteful words spewed over my paper i found my cheeks tinted with the thing i ignored i was warm with curiosity, careful to wear my glasses backwards if i chose to wear them at all i never looked forwards i lived in regret regret of you regret of me regret of what could be, in the future, as i let my perception numb me through the present

[sourlemonhead]

generosity generally gravitates grotesquely

an overconsumption of the words indulgence is a bittersweet thing, you enjoy the immediate reward but find yourself with an awful taste that makes the action not worth the pain we cry because it makes us better, allows us to let out the pain but after, we regret our tears, telling ourselves that the reasoning was not enough to garner such a dramatic reaction, that this pursued motion was unnecessary, and that feeling is better enjoyed in the silence of one's mind, where no one can hear the sobs

[sourlemonhead]

10/23

My bedsheets smelled like you, and I knew it was you because of the sweat that built up from your bike ride to my house. I don't remember much of what happened when you came over, nor do I remember each interaction we've had. All I remember was that moment, that one immediate realization that we were laughing. I didn't find myself worrying about what to say or how to keep you entertained, I didn't even stutter, every word came out of my mouth as it was written in my brain. There was no filter, something that could be interpreted as a bad thing, but just meant to me that I was comfortable, here, with you. Which was all the more strange seeing as I'd only known you for a month or two. I don't think I trusted you, nor do I now, but there was something about the way that you smiled, that you stared into my eyes, watching your own reflection in my grey-blue-green-black pupils. It felt like an eternity, and I couldn't help but grow accustomed to the mesmerizing yet fearful haze of your gaze. It glassed me over, and I became settled into a statue, dumbly running my fingers through your hair without a word. When it was too much, when I pushed myself out of this trance, you lay there, pulling me closer occasionally to nudge my nose with yours. "Nose kisses" you called it, when I pretended to not know what I was doing. I'm so manipulatively oblivious, but I like giving others the satisfaction of the moment. And perhaps you looked it up later, curious to see if your absent minded guess was correct, but maybe you didn't care as much as I did. You had bigger things to worry about. It's a wonderful thing, to be impulsive, but it has the same drawbacks as it does strengths. Things happen later, but at least they don't happen now. And is the certainty of standby and regret better than the risk? Better than the possibility to do something you truly like, something that could have consequences but you probably wouldn't even consider doing unless you knew there was some sort of a chance. Maybe you'll be lucky. Maybe you were. Stupid, the entire thing. I'll never know why I did what I did, and I'll make excuses in an effort to figure it out. Maybe I kissed you because I thought it was inevitable, after all, you were right there. Our lips were touching before, long before I leaned in and actually used the verbs we so delicately glossed over. After I kissed you, I pretended nothing happened, the same way I pretend to now. I told you'll I'll forget, that nothing will change, and I doubt it will, as I'll never have a shortage of disheartened men to lead on, but you felt the same. You weren't some throwaway, someone who didn't appear to have emotions, or at the very least crippling self esteem. You're not overly confident, but you know your worth, and seem to not let it get inside your head, however you decide to interpret that.

I'd write a song about you, I suppose. I could write a song about a million things but my consistent problem, the blockade that's prevented me from doing anything productive in that way has been the condensing that's required. I can't fit all my worries into a few clever lines.

Another thing that's on my mind is how you'll take all of this. You've got so many close friends, some who live close, some who live states away, but the commonality is that you all share trust. No drama or gossip or leaking or betrayal plagues your group, and the truth is that I'm jealous. I'm sure if I tried harder I could find the same, but no one ever wants to get close enough to listen to me. I don't like to talk about it either, perhaps, which is half a lie but with every lie there's some fact. Somehow every time I go into a conversation hoping to get something out of it, I get the same thing: the satisfaction of helping the other person, a currency I switch between honoring and denying. It's too much of a good thing at this point, although I know tomorrow I'll praise it above all again. I just wish I could be honest without worrying about reception, about the same shit I'll always do wrong.

The other day someone told me I'm just like I was in middle school. They weren't wrong, I'll always be the same pathetic kid who can't regulate their emotions, gets hyperactive when any excitement reaches them, and starts cracking jokes whenever the conversation gets serious. I think I've just gotten better at masking it. Apparently that hasn't worked as of late, and the comment has luckily helped me realize I've been getting much too comfortable at this school, too healthy and vulnerable to survive and keep others around. One could argue that the reason everyone left is because I chose those who weren't too desperate to come towards me in the first place, but I am not that one. I suppose I know my worth, and while the general opinion fluctuates like it does with everything else, I'm otherwise confident in my ability to get people near, close, and fallen prey. I don't try to lie, and with some people I don't, but there's always a bit of forgery, bluffing that I can always fall back on later, and perhaps at some point during the chase it won't be a lie anymore.

I don't know how I feel, honestly. Do I like you or do I just like the lack of commitment? I know for certain which moments I felt joy, joy I hadn't felt in a long time, since before I signed my heart away to someone who ripped the paper. Your presence was calming, I'd say it still is, but now I find myself in that difficult position where I'm lost without it. Being held is undoubtedly my greatest weakness, yet even when I'm most safe, cared for without explanation, I test the limits of what I can get away with. I wonder if you like to be held. I wonder how you feel right now, what you're dreaming about while I sit here, typing away my ridiculous manifesto to add to my unfinished library. I wonder about myself, if this is temporary or if everything else was. I wonder if all of my attempts at love (something I no longer believe to exist, despite my young age and hidden lack of experience) were true, buds of a possible blossom that I never took the time and energy to water. I wonder if it was always you, and I was only using others to distract myself from something I could never have, a forbidden prize that was worth all the tantalizing denial if only I could marvel in your valor and atmospheric bliss. I wonder what classes I have tomorrow. I wonder if anything matters, if the carbon dioxide I'm releasing into the air was really worth it for this jumbled log of examinations, or if I should've cut down trees instead. I wonder if this is truly deja vu, or if I've had one too many similar scenarios that I shut down in shock to desperately shield myself from suffering again, through another 9, 10, 11 months of uncontrollable vomiting and sleepless nights. I wonder if I really will become an addict this time, if I will become and slowly am becoming the person I fear the most, someone who made me the way I unfortunately am, a mold I could impulsively push onto others if left untreated.

I think I'm too tired to think anymore, but I can say undoubtably my subconscious will fill in the rest. I'll try to remember tomorrow, when my mind is made up and perhaps yours as well. Lastly, I wonder if you called her tonight. If, after 2 nights of exhaustion and apologies, with one evening of buffer in between, you left her again, too overwhelmed with guilt and confusion to face your decision with a poker face. I wouldn't doubt it. I just pray you're not killing yourself over this one, I'll come and go and so will she, so will you. Maybe I can motivate you without imposing bias, and you can do what's best for you so I can avoid my own truth, getting over you the way I promised I wouldn't. Nothing is really the same, but if it matters that much to you, and you're not like everyone else who wants to jump in, lead me on in a reflective manner, get what you'd like and leave, then maybe I'll try harder, as I do care, and I do want you to understand how consequentially attached I believe I've gotten in the time I've known you, something that's helped me to realize how special and 'mysterious' you are, or at the very least unpredictable in my favorite way.

I'll be done soon, but I can't finish now. I miss your soft hair, how delicately your waves and curls wrapped around my fingers, straight enough so I didn't hurt you, but knotted enough so I could pretend I actually had a use. I miss your beautiful eyes, how your lashes settled to create a netting between your irises and mine, so it was less obvious we both were staring. I miss your arms, and your stupid, stupid collarbone that led me down a curious rabbit hole, something I'm more aware of but is much more prominent these days. I miss your warmth, despite the fact that you were definitely freezing in my basement oasis. I wonder how you'd survive the night, if I could muster up the courage and the false persona to entice all your friends to join you at my house. I miss your ignorance, or perhaps carelessness, something I feel I've used as an adjective rather frequently as of late, but its double meaning fascinates me, just as you do. Every time I'm amused by minuscule actions, from the slip of emotion to your presenting interest in my strange conversation topics. Your patience is new, however, and seems to be something you're trained with, somehow read in my mind as off putting, despite the amount I love it. I've done it once, and not even completely, but I'm still going to miss sleeping in your arms. Shutting my eyes peacefully with the blanket of another, the pillow of your arms, the latch of your wrist. Everything was perfect, from the way I grazed your face, delicately tracing your jaw with the tips of my thumbs, to the way you grabbed my waist, just the way he did to you, something we could laugh about together, which made the moment all the more memorable. I don't remember a lot, but being with you reminded me of it all as it unfolded, like I was living in a dream, the events transpiring as I lived them.

I'll swear to remember again, although, maybe for your sake, it'd be better if I forgot.

[sourlemonhead]

11/5/22

The weather here is never the same.

We're a city known for rain, for downpour and floods, for hot summers and sloshy winters. I spent many a night staring out the window, watching each flake of snow while it lasted, pressing my hand against the glass as an alternative to my tongue. I longed to feel the ice, to preserve this moment in forever, but as the time passed and the wind blowed, the intricate icicle hit the sidewalk, melting into oblivion. Milliseconds were all it took, and one little speck of my life became insignificant. This probably was the stem of something, but being young and naïve, I'm sure I didn't think about it as much as I'd like to wish I was capable of.

My internal temperature changes too, and one different pattern can leave me feeling warm, erratic, and, coincidentally, temperamental. I like to say I've gained control, but the whisked seasons and my lack of weather gear bring me back to that whirlwind, that fluctuation of mindlessness.

Some days I try to sit back and stare again, but the sun comes after the rain, an incorrect metaphor from what I make it out to be. I try to live someone else's photos, reading poetry on the green velvet couch in the den, surrounded by the amber ambiance of hundred year wood and the ambitious light my father installed. I pile more books by my feet, resting my head on an uncomfortable stitched blanket purchased long ago for an inordinate and unfair amount. Everything matches my purposeful perception, the image we projected in a moment of strength, but all of me comes back once again. I can't go a minute without music, and the chemicals in my brain convince me to retreat back to my addiction, the wasteful gazing, blanking upon my saturated exposé, regardless of how I indulge.

Back and forth, I kissed the glass from both sides, always wishing another could come by and reflect me.

[sourlemonhead]

12/1/22

I genuinely cannot get you out of my head. At this point it's ridiculous, how could you allow this hyper-fixation to blossom?

As I told him, I feel I could talk about you for hours, longer than we've been talking ourselves. I think there's a difference because in my private, individual rants, I can dare to dream about you, and me, perhaps one single word. Every single triggering message leads me to spiral into thought regardless of how hard I try to control my mind for my own damage control, and I will always find myself envisioning a future with someone I don't have a past with yet.

I can't tell if it's because I like you so much that I analyze each phrase with expertise and care. I can't tell if it's conditioning or anxiety that makes me stay up later each night, at least an hour after you stop replying (to the minute), to see if you're actually sleeping or if you got distracted with a task I'll never know the name of. I find it funny that I blame others for delayed responses, that I precariously fear your silenced voice and its arrival, while all the while I'm watching a video about square food. I'm truly my own traumatic cycle, and the awareness I've recently gained of that fact has done everything but improve my life and interactions. I know that subconsciously I will forever swear I am not enough for you, that I am undeserving of whatever attention you choose to give me (regardless of the quality), that I will worry to the point of physical illness simply because I spent a night without a correctly toned text, an hour without your little white heart acknowledging my desperation.

I'll spew nonsense out of my mouth, attempting to wow you, keep you entertained, and thankfully my vulnerability has plagued your brain as well, and allowed me to slowly draw you into asking your own painfully risky questions while answering mine in a rooted way. I find myself extremely satisfied with our position as of this closing night, starting day, a place I refuse to admit you've put me in every night as I correctly grasp the concept of separation. I think, realistically, I've fallen in love, much too quickly for my own good, much too quickly to receive a proper product.

Everything about you seems perfect, a statement I've mentioned millions of times, either hidden between the millions of other confessionals or too daring to be addressed. You seem so incredibly kind, not in your actions but in the way you apologize for mine, perhaps as a result of former conditioning or correct teaching, but nevertheless an outcome I will forever appreciate. You're funny, with the knowledge of self worth and respect cascading in a ridiculous escapade that casually continues to appear mid-conversation. Not too egotistical, but more than aware of your talents, using that to easily make a negligent proposed topic all the more thrilling.

Sickeningly, you make me smile, and I find myself more often than not sewn into a grin after viewing whatever slightly sweet message you've sent me.

God, I'll say more later, but I'm truly terrified, that's my bottom line. I know that your charisma and honesty have an incredible hold on me, which could very easily lead me head on to a situation I would never get out of without the assistance of another 5 during the course of another long, separated month.

So I hope that you won't do what everyone else has attempted to do, and that you're not just leading me through an inconveniently long game to win over something I would've considered complimentary had you showed me your deceitful intentions (that you didn't believe much anyways).

I guess I'll try to calm down, but the terminally extinguished fire in my soul burns irreversibly with every melted word you pour down my throat.

[sourlemonhead]

snakebite

I often imagine you're with me, shaking your sullen head after hearing my stupid ideas. Others are polite enough to support my reckless endangerment, but you rightfully shut me down, kissing the tip of my nose after every argument, every vaguely ironic word.

Speaking of irony, you adore it, but only when you use it. You've coined it "your thing", and so everyone else is inherently disrespectful as a result. I fall in love too easily, too fast, so we both have our flaws.

Everything about you seems perfect, but I only know your surface level relations. I wish upon every lucky number that it'll be different than last time, but I'm fooled by many like you with a simple glance, and regardless of how wonderful I see you I'll tearfully change my mind.

You make me smile, pacing anxiously around my kitchen granite with a minute of your time. I'm locked in and everything you say brings me closer. You're newer, you care, you swear you do.

I often read into it too much, and my relentless extreme first impression throws many off, as in an effort to combat my anxious headaches I push harder and harder to find all that weren't consenting a reveal. I hope I'll see you soon, I hope I won't recognize your face at first, then you'll sneak behind me and I'll be summoned through the whistle of your even tone. Crisp, clear horns will fill my ears as we share an embrace and I'll hope you feel the same, with your mysterious stroll past.