Voices and life choices

30/07/24

Pop culture will kill me some day

I’m back with my writing about random crap in my life. I’ve been writing more but not for you guys (I’m sorry? I don’t think anyone missed it though). I saw some other writings and thought I needed to gain more confidence, send my stuff out into this (relatively small in the grand scheme of things) sea of names and sometimes faces. I think it’s easier to do this shit on here cause you can delete it, you never really meet people, it’s all forgotten about in a few hours 

I’ve been writing songs. “Songs” is generous - lyrics without a melody. I can’t play guitar particularly well - only power chords. But, in writing songs I end up thinking about the same things 

This is why I don’t leave the house 

I don’t want to be like them, there’s nothing wrong with them but they’re “them”. I’m this wooden toy wishing to “be a real girl”. But I still don’t want to be like them. I’m sitting at the front of the class in the corner and wondering how they do it. How they manage this persona because how can it be real? How is it not crushing you? My skull was cracking after just a day.

There’s a girl in my class who I love. She lets a boy she used to date walk all over her cause she’s still in love. I just want her to find what she deserves (and him too). I want people to realise they’re worth more than who they are at 17. They are made of love and stardust and late nights and every time you get caught in the rain. You’re more than what someone thinks of you, how they use you. You’re more than your parents’ standards. You’re more than you think. 

This is life. If there is any purpose, it is this. The greatest thing you’ll ever learn is to love and be loved in return. 

Breakfast club 

or John Hughes references that no one ever gets 

In class they were discussing fake IDs - I don’t have one. And for a moment I genuinely considered paying like 40 quid (way too much) for one just so I could feel like I had passed a milestone. Done something normal. And I am normal but I’m behind, you know? You know 

It led me to write a lyric that got stuck in my head.  But that’s all it did. Got stuck in my head, on the tip of my tongue and nothing ever came past it 

“An amalgamation of voices all culminating in my collapse” 

So nothing will come from it now. It’s dead and all dried up. I must wait for something new to grow. 

I’m not scared for my future. Things will work out because they have to. We’re all scared of getting it wrong. That’s why we don’t take chances. That’s why I don’t like change. 

Things need to change.

Morning coffee 

So how have you been? Yeah, I’ve been ok. She’s been telling me what I want -need- to hear so that’s enough for now. It’s never enough though. Things could always be worse and you could always be doing more. Yes I heard about the accident. It’s awful. It could’ve been me. God, how self-centered. He was the eldest, you know? The whole town went to the funeral. Well, except us. Next year no one will remember. I’ll remember. But only the after. God, I’m so sorry, it shouldn’t be me. And she looked like she was falling apart so why wasn’t she. Like a car crash, horrifying to watch but you can’t look away. Why is that? Are we punishing ourselves? Forcing ourselves to watch to understand consequences and our own mortality? Or are we all just sadistic? Either/or

Just be quiet 

Broken glass 

So now we’re here

I’m sorry that I’m like this. I’m sorry that I brought that up. I just get so in my head and I need to get out 

For keeping warm, what is best? A good lover or a good cover 

A good cover story 

A good cover up 

The last time I was made the beg, I cut my knees on the glass. It was a deep cut, it was a lesson, it was a warning. Don’t do it again. I won’t, I won’t. 

I don’t like that the scar is fading. Where is my proof?

I should have done more by now. Should have said more. I have nothing to say. Yes I know, I know, ironic. I mean I have nothing new to say. Everything that is worthwhile saying has been said and in a much softer tone, prettier voice, more acute choice of words than I could ever do. I’m predictable and pessimistic. An all too common combination. Do I wear it well? 

Edie phone home 

“I met a women, she had a mouth like yours”

I swear he only calls me when he knows I’m asleep

So I can’t pick up or pick a fight 

How has it come to this? How have I let it come to this? Those lyrics were an omen. On the bands round their fingers and so in my blood. They should have known I’d come out Blue. I am frightened by the devil. She understood.

Those lyrics are in my blood like holy wine. I was the omen. 

I swear he only calls me when he knows I’m asleep.

“Go to him, stay with him if you can, but be prepared to bleed”

August and everything after

The church bells are so loud. They never seem to change. They sing for only me. I only listen. 

I’ll try and get out. And try new things and get over myself. I’ll try and be the car crash heart the onlookers deserve. 

I’ll write more. If she liked that she might like more. This is all I have right now. It needs to work.

I’ll write more because hopefully something I say means something to someone. Makes them feel less alone.  

I hope you’re all ok

This is northern downpour sending her love