Tauromaquia

have you ever seen a bull with

six flags on

its neck trembling to

stand?

I don’t have the balls to watch, I

have to turn away towards the darkness

of the stands and there awaits a worse sight, the

horde of horrifying human visages

who comfortably sit

demanding blood,

at a distance men

astride doped up horses prance and poke

 the bull with lances on all sides,

already we are defeated

while the crowd shrills for the

matador  to deliver the final blow,

the sword plunges into the bull’s spine,

blood spews, and its

darkness descends upon me as

the crowd roars in applause as the bull is carried

 away in a cart-

along with any love I still

held for humanity.

(Source: tumidriver)

Reading a short story written about you by someone who hates you is equally frightening and flattering.

shamelessinner:

i dreamt of you last night.

you trapped me in your van and kept asking me why i left.
I kept shaking my head and telling you i had to.
that we shouldn’t be friend. that you ruined that.
and you cried the way you did when i first broke your heart.

and i woke up.
terrified.
worried you’d be close to me.
worried you’d knock on my door.

but you weren’t.

————————————————————-

i remember meeting you in college.
thinking that you looked out of place. sitting all by yourself in that striped cardigan. you kept playing with your hair and adjusting your glasses. i couldn’t help but notice how femme your movements were. very delicate. very soft. even the way your eyes would flutter when you’d look from my eyes to the floor, back to me and then again at something else in the room.

but it wasn’t me you wanted. it was a friend. you and her dated. and you and me, well we did what friends do. we talked about girls. and played video games. you called every once in a while. checking on me. asking me how things with me and my boyfriend were. i knew you didn’t care. i knew you just called to talk to me. tell me about your life. explain things to me, that you couldn’t explain to the group of guys that you usually surrounded yourself with. you called them your friends. but friends are supposed to be people you can be yourself around.

you never seemed to be yourself.
even when it was just you and me.
eating fries and talking.
sad eyes.
you were always so sad.
“You can’t tell anyone i told you this okay?”
so i kept secrets that didn’t seem like secrets. they were the facts about you. and how you felt about things. and what your views were. unpopular opinions. but they were yours and they were genuine, and you said that i was the only person you could be “yourself” around. and i didn’t understand.
because how could you be someone different?
but then i saw you around your “friends”.
and i understood how many shades of you there were.
and i wondered if when you were with me,
if that was just another shade of you.
I wondered who you were when you were all by yourself.

I asked you that when we were together.
just you and me.
sitting across from each other eating fries.
it was the second time that week.
and you wanted to spend so much time with me.
it wasn’t intimate or cute.
It was just time.
and you just had all these things to say.
and i felt like your therapist.
your words came out rushed and ugly.
the “writer” inside you hid away when you were with me.
you said you didn’t even care about school.
you didn’t care about friends.
you just wanted to get away.
you were so vulnerable.
and i let you cry.
and i let you be.
and then i ruined your moments.

i cut you off in the midst of talking about what it is you want.
i just said “you have all these secret wants. i don’t know why they have to be a secret. i don’t know why you can’t always be like this. why you can’t always be ‘yourself’ around other people.”
you said i didn’t understand.
and you were right.
i came back with
“how do i even know if this is the real you? what if this is just the shade of you, that you are with me?”
and you looked down.
and told me that you loved me.
i was so angry.
you said that it’s the reason you love me.
because you’re not afraid to be yourself around me.
that i make everything okay.
that i was beautiful and understanding and all the things that are great.
you tried to touch my hand.
and i hated you.

i told you that we were on different planets.
that we didn’t fit.
that i didn’t feel that way about you.
that what we had was real friendship.
two people who could talk freely.
and you said you were like this with me, BECAUSE you loved me.
and i told you you didn’t know what love was.
and for that matter, friendship either.

i don’t know where you are.
or what you’re doing.
or what shade of you you’ve been painted today.

sometimes i just can’t help but think about how sad you are. how bad i feel for you. and how sad it’d be to hate yourself so much-that you can’t be yourself around anyone.

i’m not making much sense.
i didn’t edit my thoughts.
this is often what happens.
lots of nonsense.