forty ounces of social skills.

i’m feeling really frustrated artistically this week, really useless and not quite good enough. nothing i shoot says what i want to say, and everything i want to say leaves me with an uncomfortable feeling in my throat, like a pebble lodged there, keeping the words in my brain from coasting out on my tongue, like admitting love and wanting to be loved is weakness. like loneliness and being lost in the city i want to give myself over to completely is not something to scream about. like i’m maudlin and weak and need to just keep my head down, dodge my friends and make it through this month in silent exile.

sometimes i miss drinking more.
sometimes i miss you, and everything, even though we both know we were bad news, coasting from town to town with no set direction and lots of pills.
sometimes i want to look cover my face, punch my soft stomach, rip the skin off my arms and sell everything i own, and most days i want to be braver.
i want to show you.
i want you to see.
i want you to recognize that maybe i’m ok. maybe i’m special too.