blugh

i'm all caught up and tangled, trying to make something fit, trying to walk this line between self and whole -- between person and performance -- and it's nothing anyone ever even asked of me. i don't know how to merge the two and it's frustrating. i feel like a copy of a copy, of a run-down stereotype; and maybe that's all i'm good for. maybe all i am is a toy -- wind 'em up and watch 'em go, yeah?

it's 6:31 in the morning and i haven't gone to bed yet, i don't think anything i say at this point will make even the faintest hint of sense -- i'm overtired. but, i'm still longing for dare-you-to's. i'm still longing for something i'm not certain i'll get to be. and maybe that's a little terrifying, and maybe it's vain, and maybe i just don't know.

"my skin's always been too thin, always a size too small. i feel too much for arm punches in the backseats of mini vans, jokingly swished hips in dark-lit basements. when we rough-house, i just go red; and there's nowhere to hide. nowhere i can put this tangled mass of difference inside me, nowhere to run from the feeling that i can never be you. [...] i'll never get what you have, i'll never be what you are. 'square peg, round hole. and one hole too many.'"

can you plagiarize yourself?