The fitting room

Its a funny thing.
Trying on clothes that is. It is amazing how depressing something so simple can be. It starts out innocent enough.
I pick it up. Turn it around. Look at the washing directions and the material. I stay away from dry clean only things. For the most part, I try to stick with cotton and other blends that breath and don't fall apart after a few washes.
If it meets my criteria it becomes inevitable. I have to make the journey. For me this journey usually ends in humiliation of some sort. Unless I am trying on sweat pants or sweatshirts. I do look great in a crew neck cotton sweater, let me tell you. I think that is where the line is drawn.
I have no idea what the problem is. I'm average height and weight. I have a small waist. Proportionate hip, butt, thigh ration. Regular sized boobs. In my opinion I'm average. I feel like clothes should be made to fit girls like me. I have normal curves. Maybe a little extra love to handle, but that's not uncommon. I just don't understand.
Trying on clothes shouldn't send me into an emotional downward spiral. However, 9 out of 10 times it does.
Do they even use women for models these days? I feel like they use little boys. Maybe they put bras on them just to emulate boobs.
All I know is that I'm standing underground waiting too long for a train and I am mad. Just plum mad. Buying clothes shouldn't be this hard. So why is it.
Why are these textiles being made is surplus when they do not fit the average girl. Who is going to buy them? It just isn't realistic.
If you want people to buy your products, them make them for the people. Its foolish not to.
I may be biased. If I am so be it. All I know is I am not dropping 10 lbs and eating hardly anything to be able to fit into clothing that is too highly priced and poorly made.
So fuck it.

I don't want to resent you. It feels as though it has already started. It has began to seep in through the cracks. When things look up it will not be upon your head.
In due time. Because it is all there is. Inside I feel this time. It creates the rift. Too many years. Too many words.
Just as we are one we are separate.

The journey is so hard for you to understand because it is not yours. You and I are not the same. Despite all that we do share, this has to be different. I just want you by my side. I want you to have faith in my heart. Have faith that I will make it to where you are. Not up there but over there. I want my companion back. By my side. Not as a guide but as a match. The other glove. Hand in hand.
Know that time is the enemy. It does not exist. When it does we are done.

you can't fake brains doll

She speaks without thinking. Thinks with no reason. She believes so little in herself, and with due cause. Its kind of funny to observe. It seems as though the point is to make people laugh. However, I can see past this. If only good intentions were enough. Some people think its a choice.
Too little before creation is not. Certain qualities do not come easy. No amount of currency could buy the knowledge she is lacking. She will try. She will roll and pine. over the one thing she has always wanted.
One thing that only dreams bring. One thing never within grasp.
Take this entry for example. Look at the lack of vocabulary. Look at the poor sentence structure. Look at the lack of originality. Its lacking everything. Senseless words from a silly simple sap.
It is written all over the face of this silly girl. She knows so little.

Dear You

I am beginning to believe that this is just too far. The miles are long enough in length to keep us separated for months. My heart is growing weak with every hour we have between us.
The ocean does not separate us. The sun rises and falls just the same. Yet, I am without you.
All of you. Too many. I find it hard to think of each one daily. In seven days time I have. Crossing my mind in waves of memories. Hitting nostalgic notes of love and hope and fun.

I am more the spectator

I have recently come to the conclusion that I am just not very good at sports. I will walk a trail like nobody's business, but put a baseball in my hand and Someone will get hurt. Usually myself.
Seriously. I think this is okay. However, having friends that really like playing sports makes this a little less acceptable. I will try. I will stand in the field and yell profanities when balls come my way. My lack of skill will end up making the game less fun.
I am glad I am included. My friends are very nice. Let me sit this one out.
Being a kid I always thought I was supposed to like sports. I wasn't pretty. I liked dirt. Match made in heaven right? Problem is I am clumsy. I am Awkward. I like to read.
I'm not making the argument that people who like sports don't like to read. I am sure they do. What I know is that I don't. This should not be big deal. I will make a sign. I will cover it in glitter and be your biggest fan. For the sake of everyone, I think I am going to sit this one out.
Conclusion: I really need to make some girl friends here in the city. SOON!

in the room

Your compassion is endless and overwhelming. Similar to the feelings it bestows upon me. Yet, it intrigues me. You don't listen, but you are so delightful to converse with. You are genuinely supportive to every person close to a friend. You bring happy into all realms of reality. You are so back and fourth. Confused and enlightened. You wouldn't hurt a fly. Being as that you have been the fly too many times. You think so much that it becomes too much. Every single thing you do, you have me on mind.
The only reason I live and breath. Hello my ocean. Hello my city.

Today

Sitting in dirt. Rolling in the debris. Holding a beer with both hands. Dirty nails, bitten down revealing cracks and bloody scabs. Leggings and stained tube socks.
What has become of the truth I knew before.
Its so hard to remember, when I can barely see your face. I need the water in my lungs. It brings the comfort of knowing i'm not alone. There are people that know. Inside and out. Who can I be without what was.
The feelings are fragile. The fish bowl glass is cracking and the exits are full.
What is left feels weak. The feet left bleeding from carrying the weight. Give me some air. Some space is all I need. Give me a weak. Give me a shallow whole.