Letting go is hard. Forgetting is hard. I want so badly not to be ok, but for everyone to call me ok. I want to look normal, I want to be step ford. To be perfect, agency standards say 5"8 and a size 0-2. Half way to perfect? The other half is a loss. Kind of like the rest of me, I've gotten so good at feeling how people think I feel sometimes I can't even tell the difference myself. I don't want to forget. I have earned my fuck up badge. I have earned the right to have wrinkles and look tired. My back gets to hurt, and I can forget whatever words I want. I've earned it. I don't want to forget that touch or those moments because I don't ever want to wonder to myself why I feel so fucked up. I am fucked up and I know why, but no one else gets to. My gift from this fucked up evil world is that I survived and you all have to think I'm fucking fine. If I can never be extraordinary then I get to appear normal all day without having to actually be. Once the world is asleep I get to sob in the shower and no one gets to hear over the water, I get to stay up all night just to bite my own finger and cry all my tears into my pillow, and I don't have to tell you why. You got to do this to me in this world so I get to fake it all I want.
Laying in my bed panting from my silent sobs, trying to decide if what I feel is real with my earbuds cranked high, and my nails digging into my arm just to make sure I still feel when I came upon an artist who's words can clear my clouds and shatter the screaming in my head like I thought only my Joele could. Here is to my new weeknight bedmate.
Hide and seek
me and all the kids from the neighborhood
we play out in the street all summer long
rule was we had to go home at night
when the street lights came on
we were oblivious to the rest of the world
we hold up the cars in the street
we always played boys against girls
and both sides would cheat
strange men would stop their cars at the curb
say "hey sweetheart, come here"
and i would go up to the window
and they would have their dick out in there hands
and a sick little sneer
i'd say "here we go again
yeah, this time you win"
i would feel dirty; i would feel ashamed
but i wouldn't let it stop my game
we would play hide and go seek
territory would be the whole block
sometimes the older boys when they find you
they wouldn't want to tag you
they just want to talk
they say "what would you do for a quarter?
come on, we don't have that much time"
i'd think for a minute and i'd say
"ok, give me the quarter first. fine"
this time you win
here we go again
and i would feel dirty and i would feel ashamed
but i wouldn't let it stop my game
i remember my first trip alone on the greyhound bus
a man who put his hands on me as soon as nite fell
i remember when i was leaving how excited i was
i remember when i arrived i didn't feel so well
i remember the teachers who got me so sick
scared, i went into the bathroom and i threw up in my hair
i could go on but you know what it just gets worse
so i should probably stop there.
girl, next time he wants to know what your problem is
girl, next time he wants to know where the anger comes from
just tell him this time the problem is his
just tell him the anger just comes
it just comes
