Tag Archives: ventilation

Sound Check

My friend still has cancer as far as I know, and I don’t even know where she is.

School is kinda bringing me down, what with the not studying and potentially failing that last test I took…I got to the second page of the test and had flashbacks to when I was failing Chemistry.

I have a fading crush on a super Christian guy who has no time for me.
I’m developing a crush on a guy who I just want to love like Christ whose time I can’t even comprehend.

I sing about my crushes in public.
I drive cars.
I’m going to drive one tomorrow, to the scary part of town, where I accidentally almost run red lights and spend twenty minutes trying to parallel park and then realize I’m in a loading zone.

After that I’m gonna be an extra in a friend’s film where I’m casted as the chick that the guy looks away from when the “hot girl” enters the room.

This initially bruised my ego until I recognized that I really don’t try to be “hot” so much as “sweet” and “kind” and “funny” and not being the “hot girl” in some random film is totally fine.

I came to this conclusion after some ego nursing. Singing songs on a stage and being appreciated for it helped with the getting over not being “hot”.
Also, dressing up for the music playing and walking around all day hearing the classmates who typically see me in jeans and walking shoes saying I looked “nice” was also a boost.
The guy I’m developing a crush on saying “You look nice,” as soon as he saw me also boosted my self esteem.
The guy I’m trying not to develop a crush on standing right next to me and talking completely like a normal human being also kinda made my heart thump a little.
Because before that it was clearly stopped.
Because I am dead inside.
And cold.
Unlike the hot girl.

The muscle cramps that came at 2am, 3:30am, and 4am were almost worth looking nice and wearing flats all day instead of supportive walking shoes.

And for future reference, the shirt that my sister gave me that says “I fall in love at least twice a day…” is both fitting in concept and reality, as I cannot wear that skin-tightness in public.
It’s too revealing, on so many levels.
And ultimately, if you find this post and connect it to the person who wrote it, that shirt is my disclaimer. And I may exaggerate my obsession with you. I mean, my attraction to you.
Because exaggerations are more interesting than reality.
And also they become my reality when I try to vent all the feelings out at nearly 3am, which is totally a good time to be doing that and not sleeping.

…and I wish I had one really good friend in this time zone that I could vent all that too and still feel loved and not like I’m weighing them down with my life afterwards.

“Check…1.2..3…How’s it sound?…Are we good?”


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Filed under Cdukulele's life.

I hate technology.

There’s a disconnect in our communications and I’m embarrassed because it feels like my fault.

My fault for being me.

There’s this lack of understanding

an inability to read what’s being said,

what’s being thought,

and it’s my fault.

This is why I hate technology.

I say too much, and then I keep speaking.

I should be silent but I just keep keeping, talk on, sing my song…

Because I’m lonely and I’m starving for communication and friendship,

connection with the world, some sort of kinship,

through the lifeless glow of a computer screen…

Communication is so much harder with a face that can’t be seen.

I am lonely.

I fill the lonely with attempts at communication.

But the endless small talk gives no satiation, except of itself.

I’m done with that self.

The skim top, not cream of the crop, fluff of foam that flutters away when blown because it’s nothing, founded on nothing, I’m done with nothing, and I need something.

So when the disconnect starts and I try to still my heart, from the reaching and depth and my attempt to connect,

when I tell it to stop, to be brief, just a hop

conversation, let the meaning slide,

when I begin and just try to hide

behind curtness of words

and curtness of form,

because I talk too much,

and I say too much,

and I care too much,

and I give too much,

and I am too much

for you –

and I try to stop myself, I will stop myself, but I don’t think that it is really me who

is at fault,

cuz maybe i’m the adult

who actually wants to share,

who actually wants to care,

to actually be there,

more than just the small talk that you see.

I hate technology.

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Filed under All Poetry