I’m alternative, but alternative to what?
In its very essence “alt” is mainstream these days, everyone goes through their jeans/t-shirt phase and being a little grungy thing right?
Thing is, that IS me, but I thought I was being alternative by being the feminist who stays home and is wifely.. It became alternative to want to be a wife, it became alternative to want to have babies, it became alternative to not smoke drink, do drugs…
It also becomes boring.
Not the drink or drugs or smoking never did much of any.
But I am a girl that goes to gigs, listens to music, pisses off the neighbours with my music sometimes, but is friends with them all because I mean no harm…
I am my grandmothers copy but with the improvement of liking punk rock.
What the fuck happened to that 19 year old that was fucking visceral?
Love, choking suffocating love,that killed the ‘me’that is truly me
The ‘me’ ‘he’ fell in love with but killed.
The me who was virgin-skinned and virgin souled.
But I could not, not have it, I had to.. it was my drug,it was obsessive crazy, bitter passionate, lyric worthy, poem worthy ‘hatelove’
I fucking hate dresses but I wear them everyday.
I mean I like them… but I fucking hate them… they make me a shapeless blob, but I want to be shapeless because my shape was forever damaged by the babies that never were, the depression that I buried under ice cream… the non-sleep I had for practically 3 years.
I have wasted my 20s… they aren’t even half done and I have wasted them… undoing what I did the first 4 years will take the next 4 and ill be 29 … but ill be a fucking great 29