do-over.

 i want to write so badly but i always feel i have nothing to say and no one to listen. my wisest thoughts fall on the head of a child who is all hands and no ears. i wake up too early after running in my sleep, my hands are always numb and i am always fighting for my life. i can’t understand why after all this time i am still having nightmares that never have to do with much of anything. my days are spent being unappreciated, cleaning up after the rich and i am a nameless faceless being that comes and goes in the light of day with only pets to witness my existence. i come home, say goodbye, spend the night repeating myself until i might rip my own head off. i want to go to bed before the sun goes down unless something keeps me up and the only satisfaction i get is baby giggles and something cleaned. i am always tired and i am too old to be so young and this birthday was by far the worst. i can’t help but to feel like i’ve failed, him, her, you. me. i remembered that tricky thing called potential and hate myself for ruining it because as of right now i am going absolutely nowhere and that means i am taking them with me. my parents don’t tell me how i am a disappointment, but i can tell, i can hear inbetween the lines, see the looks through the phone. if i didn’t have something beautiful to show for it they’d probably never speak to me again and when they do it consists of how skinny i am and how screwed i’ll be if the republican gets elected. i hit the red button on the phone more than the green and hit snooze while it all passes me by, i avoid and deflect and try not to dream because then i realize what i am missing. it’s funny how little you can make yourself accustomed to caring about. i say ‘well, i used to write’, ‘i went to college once’, ‘i dreamed of more before’. but then i get to remember how far off track i went and how that track is gone forever. what they said would get easier gets harder everyday. i strive for numbness when i used to strive for contentness. i can’t ever find it though, it never works. i live day to day and figure making it through it is some kind of achievment. the only kind. i watch too much tv and live vicariously through the young kids i said i’d never want to be again. i always said i’d never do it again, given the chance, i wouldn’t go through it all again. i’ve changed my mind. now that i know how it ends, i’d love to start over at the begining.