It’s midnight on the Internet
I’m trying to decide whether or not to reblog
A portrait of Rick Santorum made completely out of gay porn.
Tonight is rainy, and full of deadlines.
So much is unsettled and Huey P. Lewis is sitting
in a chair in the middle of a dark theater housed within the
walls of my cranium.
He is telling me about feeding children.
Feeding children threatens the FBI.
And how can you infiltrate a community you were born into?
Can you infiltrate your own identity?
How can I manage to feel like an imposter to my own life?
I have Capgras syndrome TOWARDS MYSELF!
Paranoia speaks:
Something is not right here.
Something does not belong.
Paranoia speaks:
I am not right and I do not belong!
The evidence stacks up:
Where do I get off
Pretending to be successful and organized and hardworking
and happy?!
Where do I get off
Going to a respectable women’s liberal arts college and
joyfully learning something?!
Where do I get off
Getting pregnant at age fourteen and getting sent to reform
school and not turning out to be an abject failure?!
I have not earned this!
This is not my life!
I am a washed up, wanna-be poet, rebelling for the sake of
rebelling.
I am a nomadic alternative rage machine!
My life has gone through puberty without taking my mental
altimeter with it.
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