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2018-06-09 00:16:07 (UTC)


"Bobby" by (Sandy) Alex G

Bobby’s just a friend of mine
He’s on his back
I’m on his mind
He wakes me when he goes to work
His hands are cold
His breath is smoke

I’d leave him for you
If you want me to

Do you forget when we first met
You grabbed my hand
I tore your dress
I felt things I cannot express
But I lost my way
I made my mess

*I’d clean it for you
If you want me to*

But I know what you’re doing
I know what you’re doing
I know you
I know you
I do I do I tell you what

I paint pictures of my heart
The colors blue and purple start
To bleed into an endless dark
It’s only you it’s only you

I’d burn them for you
If you want me to

But I know what you’re doing
I know what you’re doing
I know you
I know you
I do I do I tell you what

June 9, 2018 Saturday 12:30 AM

Alex G is the boy I want to marry: conceptually. He is passionate, he is talented, and he understands emotion, and he doesn't take it too hard when things get dark. I want to love that kind of boy, who buries their face in your neck so they can cry without feeling ashamed, who squeezes you and kisses your head through your hair and interlaces your fingers and plays thumb wars with you—falls asleep around you, too warm and too soft but still okay, always telling you it is okay it is okay.

But I am not waiting for that kind of boy because I don't even know that what I want is What I Want. Instead, I am haphazardly planning the loss of my virginity in the hopes that if I lose it I won't be so scared the next time I meet someone I really love. I kind of hate love, because the kind I develop is deeply forgiving once it takes hold; which it has. Luckily, I have time to let it sink.

Part of me thinks I wasn't enough. Or more accurately: I was too much in all the wrong ways. I cried a lot. That was my issue. Nah, it's that I choked on my words. No, no, it's that I had a different life experience altogether—it's that I wasn't suburban enough. Still caught up in the confusing questions of why I wasn't good enough—of why he said, "I'm not good enough for you," as if that doesn't mean the exact opposite. You are twenty miles above me just because you are not able to love me; before that, you were already up there! I don't know if I believe that, but I think you need it.

Anyway. Carefully planning the loss of my "virginity" (in my head, Moby is the one making air-quotes. He's like, "virginity isn't even real. I'm sexually active and I still feel like a virgin every time I have sex" or something like that. Definitely not verbatim lol). I am hoping I can go to Planned Parenthood this week, get a check-up and all that (I've never had one—my parents are not on top of shit). Then next Sunday I'm hanging out with the guy I hung out with in April (we made out in the back of a movie theatre during that disaster of a movie Ready Player One), He wasn't attractive but I liked the way he touched me, so I might just have sex with him for the experience. I was comfortable enough to make out with him; why is this any different? Does it have to be different? In any situation, I will be terrified. I don't want to be terrified.

Oh. Charlie came yesterday. It was.... I don't want to talk about it. Annoying. When we fell asleep, I think I felt his boner in my side and it made my insides clench in a pleasant way. Only in the purely physical sense, because intellectually, I found he was too far behind me. Not to say he's dumb—he's just fucking delusional. I think Charlie is used to thinking he is the smartest one in the room. Well, sorry, but in a room with me that will not be the case. I'm not even that smart—I'm just wise. So I happen to realize when Charlie is being dishonest. Not even overtly—just to himself and, incidentally, anyone interacting with him while he is lying to himself.

He freaked out about that today after he left. Kept talking about how he gets too caught up to be himself. I wanted to say: yeah, I knew this about you before you did. I tried to tell you, but you didn't listen because you don't think I am smarter than you: I am. I didn't say that, I let him talk. He said, "I like you a lot." I told him I didn't feel the same, and he said, "Friends then?" and I said, "Yes, friends," even though I barely like him enough for that. He reminds me of Adrian too much.

I am all jaded and sad and drunk right now. I shouldn't even be drunk: I'm alone. But I am not good at making healthy decisions and I have a lot of thoughts to drown all the time. On the road to alcoholism, says the little me in my head. I say: I'll control myself. Not tonight, though. Tonight I am going to be a little drunk.... I might smoke.... and it will be fine. Most nights I am sober. I work, I eat, I go to sleep, repeat. This is the weekend. I can fuck myself over if I want.

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