novembre

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war in heaven

That's not new news. It's not news to me. It's part of my daily routine, now, and usually it follows me everywhere, a thin film, like old socks. It breathes in and out with me. Actually, that's where it lives. Where my ribs meet. If you're looking for kindness, I have it, but truth is honest without tact or compliment. Sometimes truth can be cranky when it gets suppressed by someone you're supposed to be able to trust. Sometimes people wear selective truths like jewlery, and I want to punch them, because they obviously don't believe in it and only like the way it makes them look.
My truth wants to be brass knuckles, I think. Even though I am at heart a pacifist. This man will have me confused for a while yet, I think. At least I'm honest about its confusions, and I try not to barf them all over everybody.
In every other deposit of the day, I am fine. Everyone around me seems to have a headcold, and I'm fighting against its encroach. Everything feels invasive, now. After the botched, deep love. I keep thinking I'm going to get attacked, by anything, any second. And then I decide what to have for lunch.

2:22 pm - 03.23.11

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