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[Jun. 10th, 2011|04:06 pm] |
I've tried to hold on to my LJ for a long time. I stubbornly refused to leave. But I've done it, I've now got a tumblr. monmitchster.tumblr.com/ |
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[Jun. 4th, 2011|04:00 pm] |
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It pains me to see something so beautiful so broken.
The world is not a place for fragile things.
Things easily damaged. Rough hands chaff
and fray delicate fabrics, destructive people
handle gentle things with reckless abandon.
We treat things so undeserving.
Broken things remain unfixed
going on to break other fragile things.
We people are a brutal species.
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[May. 18th, 2011|03:29 pm] |
I got a formspring! Quick go ask me very inappropriate and personal questions! WHEEE! Wait, no... I take that back, my sensitive heart might not be able to take it. www.formspring.me/monmitchster |
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[May. 2nd, 2011|10:09 pm] |
Monster Within
There is a monster that lives within me and I have never really given much thought to its existence until very very recently. When I get angry I stop being myself and the monster takes over. The whole transformation takes but seconds, and I find my own consciousness taking a back seat when the monster comes out. I lose control and I say things and I do things that I bear witness to but cannot comprehend. I end up with just recollections of angry conversations and the broken shards of shattered glassware. I end up bearing the responsibilities of having to apologise and the regrets to live with.
I know the monster within exists because other people have seen it. Flashes of anger that streak across my face, my eyes narrow within knotted brows, they glow red like embers from suddenly deep-set sockets, my fingers curl into a half-clenched fist and my finger nails extend into sharp scalpel-claws ready to rip flesh into ribbons. For that momentary second, when people see that monster the image is so shocking that it is enough to make them fear me forever after. They confide in me after that they now fear me so much that they must always be mindful of the things that they say, for to offend me means unleashing the monster and as the monster is wont to do, they fear that I might obliterate them in a fury of violent fang gnashing and flesh rending.
This monster, is a pitiful monster. It has been beaten, caged and abused to the point where it knows no other alternative except fighting back tooth-and-nail to preserve its own existence. It is not so unfamiliar to me and for a time I was happy to let it come out and take over the reigns of my life. In the jungle it had incredible strength, stamina and speed. Its sense of smell and situational awareness for danger was so acute. I swore that it made me akin to fighting, stalking and killing. I reveled in the prowess it gave me and I felt truly free when I ran alongside it in the morning shroud of haze, or when we trod side by side through marshy soil, when we huddled together shivering in swollen rain and when we slept curled up and in never-ending fatigue. He was my best friend then.
But with less and less need for him now, I fear the monster is becoming a liability. When I was drunk the other night, it came out and wrought havoc. And now that I am in a relationship I cannot bear to lose, it lashes out for fear of abandonment and envy. A jealous monster that I have tamed into a house-pet, is far too dangerous to keep. I should let it go, release it for I no longer need it to make me sane. So I am determined to unleash it, undo the choke-collar that I had kept fastened around its neck, and scare it off with rocks and screams - I watch it bound into the forest with a sad look of confusion in its eyes.
Eyes that say that its been abandoned, like I'd made use of it and that I am the real monster.
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[Apr. 18th, 2011|01:16 pm] |
Lower Pierce
I remember the way the wood felt on my back, slightly damp, slightly cold.
The effects of the moisture in the air and the incessant sun beating down on it day after day had turned the wood soft,
now under our weight we could feel the seat of the bench bend slightly.
The air we breathed was laden with water vapor, being so close to such a large body of water,
being in the midst of all this greenery, in between grass and trees respiring and transpiring.
As the night grew long and the temperature around us began to dip, I could feel my skin grow moist with condensation.
Unmoving - save for our bodies breathing, save for your hands in my hair, combing my fringe back from my forehead.
We could have been two statues, letting moss grow and algae collect, I did not wish to be moved,
I just wanted to lay there for an indefinite amount of time, till the sun rose, till the sun set, till the bench weathered and finally broke.
Until the end of time.
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[Apr. 14th, 2011|05:09 pm] |
You go from feeling like you're on top of the world
hand grazing the tips of clouds as you stand there looking down
to feeling like the biggest prick that ever lived
Clutching a toilet bowl with shit in it because the last fucker forgot to flush, puking your guts out
vomit on your favorite shirt, on an expensive shirt and you know the stain will never wash off
I wake up and wonder why I do this to myself, and yes, I got issues. I drink like that
and make a dick of myself and I spend the whole of the next day feeling like shit
feel sick, like I still want to throw up even though I probably already vomited a whole year's supply of bile
but more sick at myself for having behaved that way
that way that I get when I drink too much, like Hyde comes out
and he stays out and he does things and he breaks this
and he ruins friendships and he ruins me and he is me
Now I'm hiding from the rest of the world, worried that they might never want to speak to me again
worried what they might be thinking of me right about now, that they might not be able to tell me separately from Hyde
I am hiding from the world because I am worried that they might not have a kind word for me right now
So I'll just find a nice large rock, crawl under it and die right now, or until its safe to come out again
Forgive me |
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[Apr. 2nd, 2011|03:29 am] |
V
There are things I am discovering,
about myself, through you.
Through your eyes and the way they see me.
How do I tell you enough, that my heart goes
out to you. That they cross mountains and seas.
That I would run, swim, fly - a thousand leagues
just to see if what we had between us was real.
I bought my tickets and after I put in my credit
card number, I jumped nervously on the spot,
wondering if I'd made the right decision.
Impulsive. In my mind I expected the worst,
that I would go back and find that it was just
me and my imagination again, overblowing
signals and getting things crossed and jumbled
up and wrong. But still I packed my bags,
waited anxiously at the departure lounge
thinking of the worst and best case scenarios.
The first time I sat across from you,
I remember thinking, "man, this table is tiny".
You said I made you nervous as you tore
up your tissue and toyed with your coffee cup.
I asked you about yourself but you blushed
and brushed me off, you let me talk about myself.
You sat there and listened and I was contented
to just watch you smile, giggle and laugh at my
ridiculous jokes. Oh how you illuminated the room,
you glowed when you giggled, and shone when you laughed.
But you blinded me when you looked me in the eyes
and smiled. I could do little to shield myself from your florescence.
We talked and we talked, until I was afraid that
even my stories would run out. If we had to stifle a yawn
it wasn't because it was boring, we did not notice, but we'd
talked until morning. You jokingly said that we could watch
the sunrise. How romantic. I don't think we ever did,
but we came really close to it. Not that it would have changed anything.
The next day we met, the next time we met, I picked you up
and in my car we drove, not minding if we got lost,
not minding where we would end up. You helped me with
directions that I'd scribbled onto a post-it. We walked along
the beach, salt water lapping at our heels. We climbed up rocks
and sat high-up, perched above the sand and the waves
the whole time we sat shoulder to shoulder, but I did not dare
move closer or take your hand in mine. But clumsily we would
bump into one another, we would laugh it off and pretend that
it didn't happen, but I could feel the tension, I could feel the electricity,
all I wanted to do was to grab your hand and declare my stake in your life.
Back in the car, driving somewhere farther then we had already travelled
together. I turned down the music to hear you breathing as you
slept in the passenger seat next to me. I sang to myself, softly, trying to
keep myself awake but softly still to keep from waking you.
I hummed the tune, chimed in at parts that I knew, rapped whole verses
but did so so badly out of tune. I would take my eyes off the road for snatches
to catch a glimpse of you sleeping. I felt like I cradled something dear and fragile
within the grasp of my hands as I watched you sleep. The rise and fall
of your chest, the way you lightly shut your eyes, the way your hands fell off
your lap and onto the side. Split-second photographs ingrained into the back of my mind. |
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[Mar. 26th, 2011|12:16 pm] |
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Happy Birthday you old fuck. |
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[Mar. 16th, 2011|03:58 am] |
Life in order,
refuse to lose now.
Social incline,
makes for better beer.
Laughing won't stop,
can't afford to cry.
Too much to eat,
got to remember to exercise,
Got places to go,
enough money to get there.
Happier at work,
more money to get.
Not going to lie.
Seasons change overnight,
got to remember to grab my jacket.
Looking sharp,
hair all waxed back.
Got my strut going,
walking away, not looking back. |
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[Mar. 10th, 2011|11:45 pm] |
POISON
They call me poison. They call me that as they heap dozens of unflattering insults to my name. "Poisonous" they chant. It's as if I infect everything around me with an undetectable taint. It's like having a midas touch which isn't at all a midas touch. I don't transform anything into gold, just a less perfect thing of what it already was prior to my touching it. It has to be a curse, a skillful curse.
Maybe that's why I elicit such misery from anything that I come across. My friendships, my relationships, they all crumble to dust. To the point where I can only agree that the only thing that I might actually be good at is being alone. I am good at that, at least. I've had a lot of practice and circumstance shows that the best time I perform is when I am alone. Where only I critique myself. I sing perfectly in tone, I dance perfectly in rhythm, I recite poetry perfectly, I write amazing prose and I love unconditionally then. When no one else is looking, I excel at being me. Poisonous me.
If I kept a pet, it would die. If I tried to grow a flower, it would wither. If I tried to make a friend, they would turn bitter. If I tried to find a lover, they would only deserve better.
So what do I do when I've been such a complete and utter failure?
Poison, continue to poison, all the lives, all the things, everything around me. I will poison till they feel the extreme misery of being me. |
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