this is what you say to seem alternative.

i can't even speak to him. we talk. but we don't speak. so long i've waited for his return; crying, hoping, hating. hating him for not being here. crying because i wanted him to be here. hoping that he would someday be here.

in my family it is normal to hide our insecurities behind insults, sick humour, cynism. how can one live with a woman that thinks she's God? in her eyes, she is the one beholder of the light, truth & life. she's everything life represents trapped in a fat, middle-aged body.

don't sweat it, mom. but i won't be your jesus.

yeah&uhuh