journal entry #18

I turned 18 yesterday
I had to fill out a waiver without my parents permission and read a nonfiction instead of fiction
I can already feel my childhood wrapped in piano strings so entangled that I can't play anymore

I nearly kissed the boy I like because it was my birthday
because I wanted him to be my first kiss as an adult
but I didn't
I didn't because I didn't want him to kiss me just because it was my birthday and it was birthday tap
or maybe I didn't because I don't live up to the 18 type and still get nervous when it comes to kissing boys

My dad called me because I guess he felt obligated
because I guess he saw Facebook announce it was my birthday
he didn't say much

just hi

just happy birthday

just bye

My step dad came around
he said happy birthday and then argued with my mother
ass hole

It was mediocre at best in the morning
and then you picked me up in benjamin
that $500 piece of shit that isn't a piece of shit because you drive it
because that car is a 4 but a 6 with you in it
and became an 8 when you let me drive it
and a 9 1/2 when you held my hand
but not a 10 because nothing is ever a 10
you passed my birthday into the top 5

My college letter conveniently came on my birthday
telling me I'm 18 and it's time for the decisions in life that will dictate your life

I heard 18 too many times yesterday

I usually write eloquent metaphorical poems that avoid the use of profanity
but today I'm 18
and 2 days ago when I was 17 I would've written about wins and losses like Nelson asked in my typical style of writing
but today I'm 18
and today I'm writing that poem I should've written 3 weeks ago that was supposed to be #different
because today I'm 18 and today I'm writing whatever the hell I want even though I know the boy I wrote about up there will probably read this and it will be either a win or a loss

I wrote 18 too many times today

This poem is a mess and out of order
but one of the goals I wrote in my journal was to keep my writing messy and neat simultaneously
and I've been doing too much of the neat lately
so this is the mess I owe to the neat

I just texted my friend saying I wrote a poem but I dunno if I should post it
am I really 18

phobia you

you were supposed to be something more
more than a biological related, 23 chromosomes, thicker than blood something

you missed my piano recitals and dance concerts to cloak your lungs with smoke and drown out your father image in alcohol

you never taught me how to clean stains off my shirt or tie my shoes
so I walk around in dirty clothes and loose laces

you were meant to help me with homework, or write a note and teach me how to play ball
I got c's in 7th grade and footballs are planted on the ground

you weren't an overprotective type of dad, you weren't any type of protective
and the nights I regret you let happen because you laid down one brick and gave up on the wall

in your dictionary being a father must be defined as becoming a stranger to your own child
because all i'm left with is a bruised mind and fleeting memories

you say the disease dictates your decisions and that's why you don't do dad very well
the disease didn't trigger until I was 15
and those 15 years you had no ammo
so what's your excuse for shooting at age 2

I got my adrenaline junky gene from you, so I thank you for all those fears I don't have
but you left me with one fear that poisons my brain with paranoia

becoming like you

french toast & marshmallow clouds

This week my days were titled A and B

Mornings were raisin toast and face painting

Machines controlled my movement from 7-9pm: 3 days muscular, 5 days cardio, 7 days of checking the mirror for that unrealistic distorted sort of improvement created by the robots who made those machines

I typed the letters I thought I saw and got it wrong

I read the same page 3 times no 4 because the words were only words the first 3 times

But by the 4th

The 4th was when the words turned into sounds and colors

And by the 4th time refreshing the page, I got the letters right

And I ate french toast this morning instead of raisin

And I forgot to wear makeup

And at 7:30 I pressed the red button and went outside

I looked at myself instead of the reflection my mind, not not my mind, my wannabe, that girl, it girl, 200+ likes girl mind sees

I skipped school today to replace white boards and blue markers with blue skies and marshmallow clouds

And next week my days will be titled french toast and marshmallow clouds instead of A and B

apologies to Nelson

The left brainers who spend their lives trying to stand out amongst 7 billion people just to satisfy the minds searching for difference:

they're fools.

Because they all in the end become the same
that in the end difference is the same.

There's always going to be that somebody who "stole" that line you said you thought of first, but they beat you to the fame.

Somebody that played the same tune,
cooked the same recipe,
designed the same dress,
captured the same picture,
painted the same landscape,
directed the same film,
wrote the same poem, book, screenplay,
and somehow became a "somebody" and left you just as a "someone".

Being different is not really about being different;
it's all just about who did it better for the mainstreamers.

So when you asked me to be different Nelson, it gave me anxiety
because there were so many drafts I could've posted and probably should've to avoid the disappointment of not being different enough for the judgement of one teacher,
but I deleted them because they've all been done before and to me it was plagiarism.

And all those great musicians, chefs, designers, photographers, artists, directors, and writers became somebodies because they said shot gun fast enough and left the rest of us someones as backseat drivers stealing the directions.

So sorry Nelson, but being different is extinct
and I left my creativity in the backseat.