Monday, July 26, 2010 a Story. Finish it.

That motherfucker is staring at me.

There he was. An ogre. Sitting across the room, alone in a booth. What sort of creepy fuck eats at restaurant a goddamn booth? And he's staring at me; he has been staring at me for the last five minutes. Every time I look up...those eyes. Those fucking disgusting furrowing bushy whacked out eyebrows. That fucking mustache looks like someone shit and smeared it in splotchy patches above his lip. He's so fucking fat, too. God. I know I'm attractive or whatever, but does he have to be so goddamn obvious?

A friend joins him. Equally as creepy-looking. Thin, frail, glasses, a goatee. Fatass nudges Skins and they both look at me. They're smiling. Oh, god, I cannot even look at them. I can't make eye contact. They're fucking raping me in their minds right now. Thinking the most horridly vulgar, nasty things about me. I know I'm hot, but can't they control themselves? I give them the finger. They raise their eyebrows but continue looking. God, the nerve...

More people are staring, Kass.

Nearly every man in the room is staring. I'm not used to so much attention, yet. They should give me a break. Ease me into this whole, "every-man-who-looks-at-you-wants-to-ravage-you" thing. It makes me so uncomfortable, damn. My skin is crawling; I feel so fucking invaded. Why are men such creepy fucks? Why are they such assholes--such dogs?

Something flashes behind me. What the FUCK? Is someone taking a goddamn picture of me? I turn to tell off the motherfucker who thinks he can get off taking a picture of me without my consent.

A football player is sitting at a table in the court. A famous football player...I've seen him before...he's signing photographs, footballs, and jerseys at a table in the court. Dads are bringing their kids; everyone is crowded around. Guys in the mall from every direction are staring. Guys in this restaurant are staring out the window directly behind a football player.

Saturday, July 24, 2010

We sat there in silence; you stroked my fingers with your fingertips.
You pulled my hand up to your mouth and kissed it softly once, twice, three times.

I thought, "Why the hell be so nice when you're doing the shittiest thing in the world?"

You thought, "I want to cushion the hurt just a little..."

A whole mess of things ran through my head. Maybe this wouldn't last long; maybe I could hate you. Maybe we really could be the best of friends; maybe our friendship really could be stronger.

Perhaps I'd find someone to make me feel good about myself.

I bawled into your shoulder a bit and you kissed my neck; probably the most sensitive kiss I have ever experienced in my life (funny, coming from you).

I wish I could have known what you were thinking.

I suddenly felt as though I was in the presence of a stranger. The feeling hasn't gone away.

I never cried after that.

...until right now.

Friday, July 2, 2010

Kevin Costner

Running water terrifies me;
can't sleep,
can't think long enough
to be worthwhile.
Not a drip, but a flow
the white-water
with leeches
sucking at my leg.

I am scared
of open water
but in awe of
its apparent infinity;
reminds me of