oh i felt odd today...
Apr. 13th, 2004 04:10 pmI find it funny that he’s in love with her… when he spends so much time with *him*. True, they would never admit to being gay. They’re both too popular. And a gay wrestler? No one would wrestle with him anymore. Except maybe… him. *grins facetiously* But, seriously. I find it funny.
I saw the three of them walking together, after an assembly at school one day. He was walking with his girlfriend, perfect couple. But he paid no attention to her. He was talking to him. And only him. So deep in conversation, you’d think he’d trip on the sidewalk. Either of them.
I don’t mean to ramble. But I always thought they were cute together. My sister even thinks so… and she has a vendetta against anybody who is gay. It’s gotten around the whole school. Sophomores have been introduced to the insanity of my sophomore year. Juniors. Seniors voted them cutest couple. I voted them cutest couple. I wonder why they didn’t win.
At least I made a point… to go off on a tangent. They can’t limit “superlatives” to one person, or to one sexual preference. So… I’m all for making them prom king and queen. It’s been done. A girl got voted prom king. Wore a tux to prom and everything. So… why not here? Why not now?
But… they are so cute together. And he’s still into his girl. I think they just haven’t come to terms with their overwhelming gayness.
There’s an ache between my shoulders. Right there, base of my neck, and stretching over the entire top surface. I try to work out the kinks… but it isn’t tension. It’s something more.
I toy with the idea of suicide. Of cutting open my arms and letting myself drain away. I have nothing to lose… so why not? Why try to stay sober when I’m dying here? Everything’s going to be fine, someday… too late. Just as well.
I took up Dad’s pocketknife two nights ago. Grinned when I began to press it to that pale and soft flesh on the inside of the forearm, somewhere between the bend of my elbow and my wrist. Tracing around the mole that’s less than halfway down… tracing imaginary ridges of former scars. Singing some old song that has nothing to do with pain… and everything to do with protection.
I grinned even wider as the pressure increased. The tip snagged some of that all too perfect skin. What happened to the scars I used to have? The darkness has been absorbed. Can’t find them anymore.
Dammit.
I saw the three of them walking together, after an assembly at school one day. He was walking with his girlfriend, perfect couple. But he paid no attention to her. He was talking to him. And only him. So deep in conversation, you’d think he’d trip on the sidewalk. Either of them.
I don’t mean to ramble. But I always thought they were cute together. My sister even thinks so… and she has a vendetta against anybody who is gay. It’s gotten around the whole school. Sophomores have been introduced to the insanity of my sophomore year. Juniors. Seniors voted them cutest couple. I voted them cutest couple. I wonder why they didn’t win.
At least I made a point… to go off on a tangent. They can’t limit “superlatives” to one person, or to one sexual preference. So… I’m all for making them prom king and queen. It’s been done. A girl got voted prom king. Wore a tux to prom and everything. So… why not here? Why not now?
But… they are so cute together. And he’s still into his girl. I think they just haven’t come to terms with their overwhelming gayness.
There’s an ache between my shoulders. Right there, base of my neck, and stretching over the entire top surface. I try to work out the kinks… but it isn’t tension. It’s something more.
I toy with the idea of suicide. Of cutting open my arms and letting myself drain away. I have nothing to lose… so why not? Why try to stay sober when I’m dying here? Everything’s going to be fine, someday… too late. Just as well.
I took up Dad’s pocketknife two nights ago. Grinned when I began to press it to that pale and soft flesh on the inside of the forearm, somewhere between the bend of my elbow and my wrist. Tracing around the mole that’s less than halfway down… tracing imaginary ridges of former scars. Singing some old song that has nothing to do with pain… and everything to do with protection.
I grinned even wider as the pressure increased. The tip snagged some of that all too perfect skin. What happened to the scars I used to have? The darkness has been absorbed. Can’t find them anymore.
Dammit.