dear diary,

This is what the diary is for! For diarrhea! Diarrheaing. Fuck it, I will be alone or surround myself with others I might find, and eventually I’ll get the hell out of this two-bit town. 'Let’s get the hell out of here.' It isn’t all that bad, Molly. So what if you haven’t, like, any accomplishments? Ooh, your only achievement thus far is your greediness to fall in love. And you think you’re really good at it, and so honest who couldn’t love you back. But! I think we all know what’s really going on here. It’s true that people don’t want that much truth. If I’m operating at 100% honesty (which is, of course, an exaggeration/lie, it’s actually at about 97%, ( or 88%, to be honest)), a lot of potentials just won’t “hang.” And who can be blamed. Everyone’s been deceived, remembers how easy it can be. We’ve never recovered.

But! when did this turn into my problem? Oh it has been, clearly, for about as long since I began beginning every sentence with, I never lie and that earnest, earnest expression.

Cut it off when anxiety is foremost.

Sentimental fuck!

TOday

Luckily I got something new at christmastime, a new dress with dragonfly print & it hasn't come off since, can't. When you go to bed dressed you wake up so. Easily, with layered tights & socks kicked off beneath the soiled pink wool & soiled down & soiled 500-thread-counts. Never to sleep without someone in the proximity, but keeping a dog as a wall between he & me. Everymorning waking up before dawn, yawning wondering, whose fingers are these? whose knee haphazardly pushed in the crook? 

The colors of my hands, royal blue chips, the copper, puce, cadet blue. The cardigan accused of being 'mustard' when mustard just isn't olive. The forest green. I crocheted a shoelace; they thought I was out of it. The neon baby stuff I have around me, the notion that honey in my espresso is what's for me. I am learning to devour a little. An omelet here, a slice of green pepper/jalapeno there. The cans all aligned on my perfect big table. I want to write about the internet, because it is finally immanent. I think that could be somehow even boringer than this all.

didn't I

So I wore the same things all week long, and my smell was radiant and the polyester boiled on me and I got flirted with hard. Everything went away after I remember that I have thousands of sweaters

did I die

What's up, I hurt myself again. All I wanted was raw oysters, so I ordered a sauvignon blanc & Gayle cried out, well get the FRENCH one, duh, and then my brother asked her how do you say purple in french and she sort of gave an answer with an accent I could have better done but I've never been in any sort of immersion course, not to say I am a natural, but I can pronounce using the int'l phonetic alphabet, but how hard is it to learn this?

So I got it out, and I started this teen diary to help me forget the confident amazing woman I "am" and so I can just be a heart on legs or on sticks, walkless. Stupidest gusher! I am a jellyfilled sac, emptying of everything allover the sidewalks. I make myself vomit whenever a thought comes in me.

for you

#37

I was yours, but once
you said that if you
lied I wouldn't even know


precious try liar
I asked you never to
you were a nevershould
I was a whynot
because I was
awilling to