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Description
I realize only recently how vain I’ve become. Paranoia has yielded vanity. Increasingly, I feel the presence of a vicious third party scowling down at me in all of my non-stimulated moments. I feel them laughing when I come home early on a Friday night, because I’m expected to be out, ranting and howling with laughter among yet another group of nameless acquaintances. I’m vain at school, dressing myself up when really, it shouldn’t matter. All of my time spent in self preparation could be spent in wellness, meditation, or whatever up-to-date cure I have clung to in hopes of healing myself from the fucked up hand that grabs my throat, swinging me from monotonous week to short-lived weekend, from five days of pretension to two more, from a finger’s count of wasted opportunity to the two more days spent selfishly.

I realize that I am vain now, as I leave his car and steady my stilettos for the undignified march down my driveway to my house, my bed. Black woven four-inch stilettos, designer tight fit ultra low-rise Express blue jeans, the best bra money can buy, a shirt cut just so to flaunt the fruits of a Victoria’s purchase, matching bag, matching earrings. Yet, as I left his car, I felt strangely that I should retire the clothing and the possessions, take to free cotton and bare toes, and start acting like a mother. My friend was very sick; I could see it in his eyes. Inpatient, Monday to Monday. I had been there once myself, no fun. I had lied in his bed one hour before when he snored and he gasped in his sleep, troubled sleep, and I held his hand, and felt like a friend. I made a pact not to desire my friend. Desire sits upon the shoulders of vanity, turning beautiful girls merely to generic stories, day in, day out. In bed, and out. I didn’t want to be that kind of girl. I wanted to be that kind of person who could sit by his side and save my kisses for the people of a different era of trust. I haven’t seen this time before, but I would like to imagine I could help to create it. I would like to be a part of the solution- the cures for paranoia, vanity, monotony, and apathy for one’s own gifts. I would like to be a part of the solution for self-loathing, hate, rage, and personal disregard. I would like to be the kind of person who created, not destroyed. I would like to be the kind of person who gives, not takes. I would like to be the kind of person who lives to see many others live fully, free of loneliness and loathing. I would like to love.

-SWH-

Description
I realize only recently how vain I’ve become. Paranoia has yielded vanity. Increasingly, I feel the presence of a vicious third party scowling down at me in all of my non-stimulated moments. I feel them laughing when I come home early on a Friday night, because I’m expected to be out, ranting and howling with laughter among yet another group of nameless acquaintances. I’m vain at school, dressing myself up when really, it shouldn’t matter. All of my time spent in self preparation could be spent in wellness, meditation, or whatever up-to-date cure I have clung to in hopes of healing myself from the fucked up hand that grabs my throat, swinging me from monotonous week to short-lived weekend, from five days of pretension to two more, from a finger’s count of wasted opportunity to the two more days spent selfishly.

I realize that I am vain now, as I leave his car and steady my stilettos for the undignified march down my driveway to my house, my bed. Black woven four-inch stilettos, designer tight fit ultra low-rise Express blue jeans, the best bra money can buy, a shirt cut just so to flaunt the fruits of a Victoria’s purchase, matching bag, matching earrings. Yet, as I left his car, I felt strangely that I should retire the clothing and the possessions, take to free cotton and bare toes, and start acting like a mother. My friend was very sick; I could see it in his eyes. Inpatient, Monday to Monday. I had been there once myself, no fun. I had lied in his bed one hour before when he snored and he gasped in his sleep, troubled sleep, and I held his hand, and felt like a friend. I made a pact not to desire my friend. Desire sits upon the shoulders of vanity, turning beautiful girls merely to generic stories, day in, day out. In bed, and out. I didn’t want to be that kind of girl. I wanted to be that kind of person who could sit by his side and save my kisses for the people of a different era of trust. I haven’t seen this time before, but I would like to imagine I could help to create it. I would like to be a part of the solution- the cures for paranoia, vanity, monotony, and apathy for one’s own gifts. I would like to be a part of the solution for self-loathing, hate, rage, and personal disregard. I would like to be the kind of person who created, not destroyed. I would like to be the kind of person who gives, not takes. I would like to be the kind of person who lives to see many others live fully, free of loneliness and loathing. I would like to love.

-SWH-