Hilary Duff reads Rilke and thinks he's full of shit

 

Either my life will change or it won’t.

I regret not writing more down after all.

It’s bullshit, believing we are meant for better

 

Things. Now that I have a dog I like talking

To people half the time instead of none & I think

About them a few weeks later; their advice on

 

Raising comes in handy as my little insignificant

Ability to periodically unexist unless

I’m literally tugged down the Target aisle

 

So I won’t buy thirteen orange plates and plan

A dinner party isn’t worth enough

 

Compared to the hand motions we should all be making

When we give commands. Like, it doesn’t matter

 

What we do, actually.

Norman Bates

 

I’ve been talking about my dad

today a lot, I mean, I don’t know why

I miss slicked back black hair.

I miss the way that he talked

even though I couldn’t have

a conversation with him.

I talk like him though, like

I consciously say things.

What a freaking skootch.

I don’t know why.

 

I guess I just want Alec Baldwin to open my shower curtain.

“Save me some soap Karen I’m feeling extra dirty tonight!”

but it isn’t Karen, it’s a man with a gun named Tony.

He says, “It’s check out time, Frankie,”

and Alec Baldwin says “that blows my mind,”

or something like that?

When it blew him in the ribc

age, the guy shot him in the

ribcage.

 

I actually used to jack off onto my dad’s wife beater

which is a little ironic, idk what’s true any more.

It came back with my clothes from the laundry

and now I have Daddy Issues™ because Kerry

told me I had to because I jacked off onto this

specific piece of fabric instead of a different one

and she was very concerned with my masturbation

habits for some reason.

 

It blows my mind that I had an alter-ego

named Dottie when I was a child, wrapping blankets

around my waist in Mom’s basement apartment

the night before we couldn’t wake her up

and the owner of the house (Terry) didn’t answer

and we called Dad at brunch with his new wife

(Kerry) and I didn’t think I could be trans, no way.

 

I used a black t-shirt as a wig in the mirror

to perform in my coping mechanism fantasy

as my own wife. I ripped it off my head when Dad

walked in unannounced. He assumed I’d been jacking

off and I let him assume I’d been jacking off.

It was less shameful, somehow.

 

Once I was dreaming (coping mechanism fantasy

codeword) and happened to work a scene

of my future life out loud: the birth of my first

children, twins and I said my sister’s name

with tears in my eyes because

 

bitch, living in an emotionally

abusive household the only way

I could get through the day

was by imagining I wasn’t

 

actually alive or actually

a person and god damn it

I wanted to celebrate

 

something, even if it was imaginary.

That was the time Kerry “caught me”

 

“masturbating” while “saying my sister’s name.”

 

 

 

LOL anyway I actually hadn’t started puberty at that point

and I now view Kerry’s obsession with my sexuality

as some warped inter-generational grooming

(Her father raped me while she slept upstairs).


poor poor baby what a pussy what a baby
poor poor baby what a pussy what a baby
poor poor baby what a pussy what a baby
poor poor baby what a pussy what a baby
poor poor baby what a pussy what a baby
poor poor baby what a pussy what a baby
poor poor baby what a pussy what a baby
poor poor baby what a pussy what a baby
poor poor baby what a pussy what a baby
poor poor baby what a pussy what a baby
poor poor baby what a pussy what a baby
poor poor baby what a pussy what a baby
poor poor baby