I'm finding clarity in kerosene.

i destroyed you tonight.
i ripped you to shreds and burned you.

all that you are, all your poems, the one you wrote about me, then one you stayed up on skype with me to finish.

i shredded the heart of who you are and set a match to it.

you're not part of me anymore.

i fucking hate you.

i hope you rot.

i'm sick of you having this control over me when you're not even here.

fuck you.

i destroyed you tonight and i'm going to keep destroying you, over and over and over again until there's nothing left for me to destroy.

no more memories to incinerate.

just thought i'd let you know you're dead to me.

Manic pixie dream girl.

I've seen a lot of things, recently, about the idea of the "Manic Pixie Dream Girl"

I had one, once.
The kind of girl who fit that archetype perfectly.
The girl with dyed hair that smelled too heavy of cigarette smoke.
Leather jackets and car rides to nowhere.
The girl who gives you a handmade journal full of date ideas and songs to listen to.
"These songs will change your life."
"These songs will save you."
"I will change your life."
"I will save you."

Y'know, that girl.
The girl who picks a tragic romance novel she enjoys and assigns you as the male lead and herself as the female lead. I guess I'm Park, now.

Too often, however, in media, the "manic pixie dream girl" character only serves to help the generic white boy #5 protagonist grow as a person and is all too often swept to the sidelines against the protagonist's journey of self-discovery that wouldn't be possible without this character.

I suppose that's true in my case, too.
Though, you don't often hear of the "manic pixie dream girl" being the antagonist in a story.

She is in mine.

Eleanor was the character she related to. And sure, y'know, if you wrote down a detailed description of that girl, she'd fit perfectly.

Park was me. The only thing I had in common with him? We both liked comics. I don't listen to the Smiths. I don't wear eyeliner.

Instead, she assigned me someone she would've rather been with. A mold, to shape me in. And since I already liked comics, maybe that meant it would be a little easier to fit me into that mold.

But I had already made myself out of my old mold. So instead of finding a new piece of clay, or someone already cut from that mold, she broke me.

Bit by bit until I fit her mold of her dream guy. Crumbled into a powder to fit this image of a guy that would make someone proud of her for dating a "good guy."

I wasn't that guy. But she didn't care. I was finding my own way through life, and she didn't like it.

I wasn't the kind of person her parents would like, and she wasn't the type to rebel. Instead of passing me up, like she should've, she took me. And when I wouldn't fit, she made me love her. Made me love her so much, that she could leave me and I would change any way she wanted me to so that I would get her back.

I never made it into that guy her parents would be proud of her for, I guess.

Which is weird, because, her parents loved me.

But I guess she didn't.

Thanks for thinking about me.

I said I didn't want to be your enemy, and I meant it.

But now you've gone and got yourself an enemy.

I began to understand why God died

You weren't life's apology to me.

Life needs to apologize to me because of you.

My skin that wrapped my frame wasn't made to play this game

Alright look

I don't want to be your friend, ever again.
And I know you don't want to be mine.

But I don't want to be your enemy.

I appreciate everything you did for me.
I just ask that you remember what I did for you, too. Even if you didn't appreciate it.

I was there for you.
You were there for me.
I'm not awful.
You're not awful.

We could scream at each other for hours, calling each other classless, egregious, selfish, coy.

But my first thought, when I hear your name?

a 4am Rocky marathon because I was sad and needed a place to stay.
A drunken walk around the block talking about our abusive exes.
Laughing at people we found on Tinder.
Leroy The Trash King.
Hell, you and I are so fucking similar, it seemed you were the only person who properly understood what the fuck I felt sometimes.

I will never, EVER forget what you've done for me.

I'm not proud of the shit I said
And I don't expect an apology from you, and that's fine, you shouldn't expect one from me either.
I don't care about all that.

Maybe you and I ruined any chance at being friends again that night. And yeah, I started it. And we both escalated it.
Fine.

But I'm not gonna carry anymore hate. Anymore anger. I'm done with it.
I see you on the street? I'll say hi.

But I'm not gonna ask how you're doing.
I'm just gonna assume,

Okay.

365 days.

It's been a year and some change.

I can't remember the exact date anymore, and that's good.

I thought I was past it all. I thought I was past you.

But the more time passes, the more things I find that I swept under the rug.

At the time, it was so that your perfect image is my eyes would remain untarnished.

Like the time you pressured me to drink, knowing I was supressing an addiction.

The times you made me feel like it was a gift to have you.

The times you made me feel like stripping myself of who I am was all for growing.

The times I tried to stop an argument for happening, like I promised, but you kept pushing.

When you called me a "jackass" for wanting to calm down before we continued a conversation.

I didn't insult or raise my voice at you in that argument.

All I said was "I'm upset, I don't want to talk about it right now. We'll talk when I'm calm so this doesn't become an argument." I remember those words leaving my mouth as clear as day.

I remember because your response was "I'M TRYING TO TALK ABOUT IT, WHY ARE YOU BEING A FUCKIN JACKASS ABOUT IT?"

So I got up. Out of bed.

The first time I stood up for myself. I grabbed my pillow.
Didn't say a word to you.

Grabbed a blanket, and lied down on the couch.

I didn't want to be near you.

You came in 20 minutes later.

"Fuck you. You're being such a child."

I still didn't insult you.

I just asked to be left alone.

Does this excuse the times I actually did yell and insult you? No, of course not. I'm not trying to hide that. And if anyone asks, I actively tell them I wasn't great either.

I'm only showing what I refused to believe before.
Not that you did it more, or that you did it worse, that's irrelevant.

But you did it.
And you did so much more than just that.

You once told me, that you had a habit of fixing people and then being forgotten by them.

I wish that were true. I wish both of those statements were true.

Because you sure as shit didn't fix me.
You broke me.
You ruined me.
And you unfriended me, because I assume you don't want to live with the thought that you damaged someone so badly that they're still reeling a year later.

I wish I could forget you. I wish I could just be better and forget that someone I loved with everything I had hurt me so severely.

But sadly, you'll always be a big part of my life.
I just wish it was as "My first love" and not "The girl who ruined me."

I wish my memories with you could've just been the good ones.
Hell, I wish I still remembered the good ones.

But, it's better like this.
It's better that I remember what you've done.
I'm so far removed that I can see it.
I can see what you did.

And I fucking hate you for it all.

I hope you succeed in whatever it is you finally decide you want to do with yourself

But succeed far the fuck away from me.

Nothing kills a man faster than his own head.

I'm sitting in the dark.
2:40 am.
Sleepless. I can't sleep.
Insomnia is back in full swing.
I'm just blasting music in my ears so that it'll drown my thoughts but if it gets too much I can pull my earphones out and just hear

Silence.
Solitude.

I haven't done this since high school.
I haven't been this bad since stress was literally making my hair fall out.
I haven't been this sleepless since I used to sleep through an entire school day.
I haven't been this lethargic since I would lay in bed for days at a time.

Even she didn't make me this bad.

I've concluded that the only thing that gets me this bad is myself.

There's a difference this time, though.

Last time, I didn't have the capacity to care about myself.
I sat, and I sat, and did nothing.

This time, I don't want to be like this. I can be better than this.

I need to get out.
I need to see people.

So please, if you know of anything going on, or just wanna hang out, lemme know.
I'll be there.

But I don't want your pity.
We won't talk about my depression or my issues.

I'm not asking for pity, I'm asking for a friend. I'm asking for help to get me off my ass.

And that'll help tremendously.

You are not your failures.

To the last girl.

I didn't always treat you right, and for that I am sorry.
I could sit here and blame it on my past abuse, and while there's truth to that, there's no excuse.

I got angry at stupid shit.
I'm still working on it. I'm still a work in progress.

I didn't trust you all too well, and that was through almost no fault of your own.

I'm very private, very cold.
And I should've been able to talk to you.

I am not blind to my faults.

I want to make this very clear, however.

I am not asking for you back.

I do not want to be with you.

I am not angry.

I have no resentment.

I do love you. And I did my best to show that, whether it was enough is another story.

I tried.
I know you did too.

But what we should've and could've been does not change that we weren't.

I don't think we're supposed to be together. Not anymore.

We've helped each other forward as much as we could.

It had to stop before we started pulling each other backwards.

We have to be individuals now.

I could sit here and list the reasons I left you.

But this isn't like the last time.
There's nothing I want to get off my mind.
There's no reason for me to put anything in the public eye.
There's nothing for me to come to terms with, I'm already set.
I have my closure, mostly.

And I hope you do too.

If not, I'll talk to you.
I won't leave you without it if you need it.

I know what that's like, and it's hell.

Have a good one.
I'm sorry.

I don't want to fall away

Before you came along, I was great.

I had everything.
I was on top of the world.
I was happy, I just didn't know it.

But I wasn't what you thought as "successful"
So you took me.

Before you showed up
I would play video games and laugh and have fun.
I went out with my friends.
I went to boxing.
I would read comics all night long and have the time of my life.

Now
Video games don't keep me hooked like they used to.
I barely go out. I talk to few.
I haven't been in a gym since.
I don't read comics.

You took me.
You took myself away from me.

I was the most complete version of me before you came along.

I don't know who I am.

Because I am not me.

I want me back.
I want you to give me back myself.
Everything you took from me
Every little quirk, or aspect of myself that I lost because of you

I want it back.

I want to be myself again.

Based on true events.

He lay awake, next to her, sleeping soundly.
He was always jealous of her sleep. He never seemed to get enough while she got enough for the both of them.
It's 7:43am. He has work in 2 hours.
He hasn't slept a wink. He can't. Not with the thunderous storm of self-doubt and distrust raging in his brain.

~buzz buzz~

She has a message.

He grabs her phone off the nightstand and slinks out of bed. His thumb slides across the screen, her passcode seared into his muscle memory.

It's the other boy.
With another encouraging hedgehog.

His heart drops when he sees the name on her screen
He scrolls and scrolls

The other boy's flirting and she's encouraging it

His heart is racing. How long does this go on?

He's shaking. He doesn't remember when he started crying.

He closes her phone. His heart racing feels like it's going to pop in his throat.

He puts her phone back and climbs back in bed.

He clings to her back.

He's sobbing now.

She begins to stir.

"Wha-?" she asks, half-awake and confused.

"Please don't."

"What are you talking about?"

She's sitting up.
He's still clinging to her.

"Please-- don't do it-- again." He pleads in-between sobs

He's holding tighter

"Please don't cheat."

She glances at the clock.

"Babe, it's 8:30! Have you even slept?"

She slides out of his grip.
He's still sobbing.
She doesn't acknowlege it.

"You need to get to work! I gotta get some sleep so I can set up for the party."

The party.
The other boy will be there.

He'll be at work until late.

His breaths sharpen.
His heart beats faster.
He hold the bed.
He sobs louder.

"I can't go. He'll be here."

"Are you kidding me? You're just trying to get out of going to work."

Was he? He wasn't sure.
He went through her phone. That's not okay.

"I'm sorry."

"You need to go to work."

"He'll be here."

She raises her voice.

"Yeah, with his girlfriend. You're telling me you can't go to work because you can't trust me with friends who are all bringing their significant others? You're ridiculous."

That makes sense to his logical brain.
Why can't he tear himself from these sheets?
He doesn't understand why he's like this.
There's no reason for it.
She's right, right?
But he can't stop.
His voice is a damaged record.

"I can't go."

"Then I don't want your fucking friends here."

Now he's angry.

Now it's in prespective.
He grip tightens.
He starts shaking.
He stops sobbing.
He raises his head.
He heart beats louder than his voice in his ears.

"You're getting mad at me? I can't trust you! You cheated on me twice!"

She gasps. Stands up.
Puts her bottom lip out.
Her voice shakes.
Everything she does when she deflects guilt.

"How fucking dare you throw that at me? I feel so guilty about it and you're throwing it back at me! That's really not okay!"

"But it's okay to flirt with other people?"

She storms into the bathroom and shuts the door.

He checks the time.

9:30.

He's late for work.

We're broken people.

She strung me along for a year, until I was “good enough” to be with her. She never truly cared for me, I don’t think. She knew she was stringing me along and acted like she wanted to be with me when I got “Better”. But she went on dates, dated other people, and shamelessly told me all about it and then acted like I was who she wanted. And when we did finally get together, she cheated on me. Twice. Blamed me both times. She told me she had feelings for someone else and stayed with me. I felt so unreasonable going through her phone in a panic. I hated being that person. I hated waking her up clinging to her and crying on her because I was terrified she was going to leave me for someone else on cheat on me for a third time while I was at work. She stifled so much of who I was. I stopped playing video games. I stopped going to boxing. I stopped watching my shows. Anytime I did anything remotely “me” was few and far between. It was always what she wanted. And what she wanted wasn’t me.

Your twisted mind is like snow on the road.

Twenty One Pilot's first album is taking over my life.
I'd like to thank you for being my first real introuction to their music so long ago.
This one's about you.


I don't scare easily. Of inviduals.
Individual people don't scare me.

But you do.
You scare me.

Whenever we talk, without some sort of digital cloud buffered between keyboards, I flinch.

Not because you're going to hurt me. I know you're not the person that goes out of their way to hurt someone. I know you're not going to hurt me anymore. Both because that's not the kind of person you are and because I won't let you.

But because you have hurt me in the past. It's a reflex.

Anytime you open your mouth, I flinch. I'm terrified.

And I'm not saying this to villify you. You're not a bad person. You're not the villain in my life, I know that.

A while ago, in one of my posts, I talked about my baggage. And how I don't know if it's a snug backpack full of the essentials or an inconvenient carryon that you can't close the airplane luggage door on.

I still don't know.

But anytime I feel I've got one thing packed up and ready to dismiss, it's like I turned around and found another box I still need to pack. Over and over again. I've made progress in healing but with the mountain I still have to overcome it doesn't seem like it sometimes.

There's so much damage that I still have yet to even see, I'm sure.

And I feel like you don't fully realize that. And that's okay, I mean I'm not mad about anything anymore. There's no anger, only residual pain and habits and defense mechanisms I've built to stop what happened from ever happening again.

I feel like you haven't grasped exactly how much damage has gone both ways, and I'm sure I haven't either from your perspective.
And I mean, we never had a conversation about it.

And I'd like to.
I'd like to know what I've done and what I'd caused.
Because I don't want to do it again, to anyone.
And I'd just like you to understand what happened to me as well.
Not make you feel guilty, but I want us both to fully understand what happened to the other party.

So, if you're ever ready to have that conversation, I'm ready.
If not, that's okay.

I just want to assure you that there's no anger left. No bad blood. And I'm not making you out to be the bad guy. I did a lot of shit that I'm not proud of, too. Shit that hurt you. Really badly.

Have a good one. Talk to you later.

Friend is a four letter word.

6 years of friendship.

I lost my brother.

I said some things I shouldn't have said, yeah.

But I was assured this wouldn't be the end of it all.

I was lied to.

While I don't and never will care again about how she'll be doing

I hope you're happy.
Honestly.

Because I'm not.

I'd never pick a girl over you.

You were my brother, and I love you so god damn much, man.

I miss you.

Hometown Advantage

I've never been one to take pride in where I come from.

Don't get me wrong, I love New Mexico. It's a wonderful land full of rich culture and incredibly interesting history.

But it's never been part of my identity, like many inhabitants here feel.

I'm sure I have many regional habits and vocabulary that I use that only comes with being from New Mexico, as anyone from any place does. California people have certain habits and words, Montana people, Florida people, New Yorkers, etc.

But my identity does not depend on where I'm from.
I was raised with the belief that I am only as good as my word.
My actions.
My beliefs.

My identity is wholly within myself, and that is something I've always held strongly to.

I am not New Mexico, New Mexico is not me.

I am my loyalty.
My work ethic.
My honesty.
My passions.

And that comes from my parents.
I take pride in who I am and who I come from.

My father is the reason I am who I am today.

I learned from his positive and negative examples.
I learned from our arguments, and our discussions equally.
I learned from watching him.

I am my father's son.