i am loved
i have been loved by so many people just because i listen to them
i listen and therefore they love me
they do not truely love me
they do not even know me
they just love to be listened to
i wish they really knew me and loved me
but i suppose if they love me in any way i should be grateful
but it just makes me wonder if they would still love me if they knew me for who i am
and not just as an echo chamber or a hype women or someone who can react to their stories
maybe they would love me if they knew me
maybe they wouldn’t
i kinda wish i didn’t listen so much
so i would know
if they would love me for things about myself and who i am rather than what i can do for them
but there’s a relief in being loved, valued, useful and serving, even if they don’t know you
and i do believe everyone should be listened to
and maybe then i shouldn’t resign myself to the fate of being the listener
because i am so loved
but not because i am me, but because of what i can do for you
if you have to use me
i would rather you use me for my body to get off than as an echo chamber because that is an insult to my intelligence and my brain
i wanna go somewhere where people don't think less of me for being me.
i want to go somewhere where i am not ridiculed for existing.
i do not know if that place exists. because i do it too. so i would have to exist in a place where i had never thought of ridiculing myself, likely because it doesn't happen in that world.
i wish i didn't have to cheapen my interests or my life or what i like. i wish i lived in a society that didn't accept that. i wish i could say "i am studying english" and people would at move on, instead of saying shit like "so you've got it easy" or "what are you going to do with that?".
i wanna go somewhere where people don't think less of me for being a writer, for being a girl, for being asian, for liking who i like.
why is that so hard.
a place that does not exist
i want to go somewhere where i am not ridiculed for being me.
my biggest bully
she is standing next to me, over me, and she is making fun of my interests, and she means it,
and then suddenly i am 14 and my bsf is staring at me blankly when i tell her i'm gonna go write, and then she says "that's boring. come play with us"
and then i am 16 and everyone is asking me when i'm gonna do when i go to university and then i say study english and they look at my parents with a sympathetic smile
and then i am back in high school and middle school and elementary school where reading wasn't cool and i was boring and i bullied myself out of my interests
and part of me wants to walk out or kick her or shout in her face
because writing is lovely and can't she just respect that?
coffee makes me shake
it's like all the electrons are vibrating at a higher velocity and i can feel it. i have coffee and it keeps me awake, and then about two hours later it makes me vibrate and feel kind of sick but it could also be that i didn't sleep until 5 am or that i had mid grocery sushi or that i need to eat carbs bc coffee demands atp or a type of energy my friend told me
the two people beside me are talking about josh. he was 21 or smth and she was 16. the girl is wearing a white-cotton like apron on her top half over black pants and the boy, not josh, is dressed like a boy. it seems josh and the girl were forced to be friends. the boy has a notebook in front of him. it looks like he's wrestled with it to keep it open. like one of those notebooks fancy guys keep in their pockets to write down whatever they want. a sophisticated, masculine notes apps with a pencil that looks like the ones from ikea. she laughs loudly, billowing like a low sail. josh tried to buy her friendship. her attention. it seems like she's removed from the time with josh. i'd guess she's 20 now. about.
but do we ever get over the stuff that happens to us in high school?
two guys in black clothes, as if they're with a stage crew are setting up lights. the
i have to pee. and my dad is taking me out for dinner. but the two guys seem colleague-ly annoyed with each other and the sun is down and my hands shake.
[but do we ever get over the stuff that happens to us in high school?] this sentence seems out of place. i'll write something deeper and more feeling-ly abt it later
i go to the grocery store for orange juice and come out with cherry tomatoes.
we often wish for an afterlife because there is comfort in the thought of salvation, of being saved, of messing up our life in a completely different way. in being forgiven. we want to be a blank canvas again, 15 and stupid enough to commit crimes that will haunt us until we die. maybe we can forget them after we cross into the underworld.
the ultimatum of my existence
to make her happy, anything.
sometimes my writing feels apathetic and mechanical, all actions and no feeling, written to be written and not to tell a story and i want to chuck my computer into the desk or throw all my pens away and just scream