Street Spirit (Fade out)

I have no easy way of saying this. Sometimes words, which are so plentiful and demanding in your head, cannot be easily expressed. I am a word smith. I’m urged to release in this way. But that stopper is there. Always there. Holding back your fingers from typing, creasing your brow line, weighing down behind your chest.

Tired. A simple adjective. So easy to use, even if not quite right. Emotions control us; you’d think there’d be an entire dictionary dedicated to describing them. And maybe there is. And maybe it should be used more often.

I am carrying around that hurt feeling in my chest. I feel like a dog that has been beaten. No blood loss, but shaken. Dropped in a lidless box and shaken back and forth.

I crave human attention. It’s like a drug that’s never enough. I am constantly receiving it, but am never satisfied. And when I realize it I STILL can’t stop myself. I can be so happy and I can be so hard.

And now for a retelling: a retelling is never accurate. Never the true story for that is lost. It’s a fashioned piece based on true life events but twisted by the way it was perceived by us and our subconscious desires. I will tell you anyway.

MY LIFE right now is a quick blur. I am 22 turning 23 and it’s sort of frightening. Life seems to be slipping away at a rate faster than anticipated or attested at 16yrs. I get up, I go to work, I come home and am desperate for something to cling to. And yet I am picky. I am hard. I am stubborn. I want what I want and no substitutions. I do not compromise.

I want to be bold and braver. I want to stop shying into a corner. I want to tear down the hard walls that I have sentineled protectively around me, because I’m not really being protected. I’m being sheltered. I’m being stopped. I’m being stunted. I used to be carefree, clueless, so blissfully clueless. And a lot of people got hurt. And I regret a lot of things. And I’m fucking selfish…and I want nothing more than to go back to that again.

Bedrooms are boundaries in our house. They just are.

I greet my friend. We are excited like puppies talking to each other. We bid goodnight. It is midnight. I shed my clothing and slide into comfier wears. I glide into bed and the fantasy begins. It begins with a light knock on my door…

Wait…that is a real knock. Come in. I am tentative and scatterbrained at the same time, unprepared for this reality and falling over myself in my extraction attempts. A handsome form enters in underwear alone. Wanting nothing more than to run my hands over his smooth abdomen, down his back. He has dimples on his lower back. This is it.

SLAM. Walls. Barriers. Chain link fencing with barbed wire tops and a coursing electric current. I can’t even be nice. The tone of my voice won’t allow it. Sharpness, coldness, briskness, is all I can express. I dismiss. Too quickly the moment is over. Too quickly he remarks he won’t bother me again. Too quickly the realization of my actions hits as he exits and my breath catches. Too fucking chicken shit am I to follow him. To say anything.


And here we are. Standing beside each other back to back. Room adjacent. With two hard wooden doors closed firm. I need to go home. I need to be slapped. I need a hug.