June 2013
22 posts
i am the fucking best at being the absolute worst.
i am the michael jordan of avoiding conversations.
i am the ludwig van beethoven of not cleaning up after myself.
i am the don draper of getting a stomach ache.
i am the mahatma gandhi of forgetting people’s names.
i am the steve jobs of clogging toilets.
i am the muhammad ali of misspelling words and incorrect punctuation.
i am the abraham lincoln of getting migraines.
i am the william shakespeare of falling down the stairs.
i am the mother teresa of procrastination.
i am the beatles of cumming too quick.
i am the jesus christ of angsty bullshit.
i am the coffee grinds at the bottom of your cup…the paper cut in between your fingers, the piss on the seat, the chapped lips, the humidity, the empty gas tank, the empty wallet, the boy that never called, the girl that wished you did, the complaint, the job, the boss, the traffic, the commercials, the time you did that thing you regret with your entire being.
i am alive at times and dead at others.
i am loved, and so i love.
i’ve been hurt, and so i hurt.
i am you, and you are me…
and we are perfectly imperfect…
as we should be.
-2013, frnkiero.
” —the really shitty thing about being told that youre smart your whole entire life is that as soon as you dont understand something you just kind of completely shut down and his this big shitty crisis because maybe youre not as smart as youve always been told
At times I’ve shouted out unprovoked, at the world and you, just to see if the people around me react. Sometimes I think they’re all acting; at times I’m scared that I’m acting too. Like, my movements or stage directions? Was that a change in topic or a beat in a scene? Have I been taking my emotional cues from a script I wrote at sixteen?
Maybe I just think about it all so much that that the fear stays close to all the ghosts I’ve touched. Makes me question: was it love or just lust? Caked in blood or old rust? I don’t know.
Don’t we remember all the moments we remember the best framed in poems and in pictures, sang aloud in refrains? Does this cycle of pain and disdain for the past not work exactly the same?
Maybe it’s just as much about what comes our way as it is about how we react. Just as much about the things that we’ve still got as it is about the things we lack. I know we won’t always keep around all we feel we need- some are fading in frames, some were born to leave- But if we’re still here, and we still breathe, I guess we’ve still got time to figure it out, to know what to do, to know how to feel, know the things that I’ve been making up inside my head, and to know what’s real. I want to believe that the way I am is just the way things go. For the things that came, not the things I chose to come. I want to know if I had any control. I want to know if it’d comfort me.
And if my heart just stops, pack my memories in it- I want to know all the love I’ve got.
And if my heart just stops, keep me alive for a minute- I want to know if a curtain drops…
Your Imagination is the Ammunition.
Stay Dirty, and Stay Dangerous.
Create and Destroy as you see fit.
Embrace your Originality.
You can and should do Anything.
Fear is the eternal enemy. If they can keep you scared, they can keep you controlled.
The world is not better off without you…these are dangerous days we live in and you, the artists, are our last defense.” —Frank Iero (via werisewiththesun)