Polly Wants A Cracker

I've taken a liking to be something that someone is proud of, something that someone can boast about and polish up and hold delicately and put it right in front of someone's face an they'll love me. Look up to me, confide in me. That is my coal burning, keeping a fire under my ass is what other people- what everyone will think. Right now, in the future, in my past. And although my past is just that, I can't help but to only judge myself based off of my weakest points. The most degrading thing that has ever and will ever happen to me, well- is me. I have a voice screaming, further your education, you could write novels, you could write beautiful movies, or write songs, or poetry! You know you've always loved words. Yes, I have. I've always loved words you are very right. Don't you want to try to understand yourself? Yourself. Why don't I do that? I wonder. I must work, I must ensure that I have a place to lie my head that isn't hard. Food, well I'm not picky what kind of food as long as my belly is full. My muscles scream for my attention, I pay them, almost every time. How I used to be, so careless in how I threw my emotions. Plummeting them into pills, packed full with every fucking word, every novel, every song I've ever hummed but never wrote down.

I hurt my blood, I pushed. My fingers still know that push, and so does the back of my throat. And I hope neither miss it, because I can't go back.

Don't do that, stop doing that I say. Turn off your vacancy sign, god knows what you're attracting. Sit inside yourself, and sink. And maybe you'll want to die, it doesn't matter.

You will be proud. One second, one minute in the day, someday- maybe it'll be when you live in some city and you get this job that you dressed so well for and smiled and nodded and shook hands. And you'd know you hated doing all those things, but you did because you knew that if you tried hard enough you'd get it. And you'd walk down those steps and selfishly ignore all the other people having bad days or good days, or just days. And you'll goto your favorite restaurant because you deserve it. And you'll be by yourself.

And you'll be proud.

Or maybe it'll be when that boy, that imperfect mess of a relationship that you always thought you didn't need, he'll get on one knee and he will say 'god I would die for you, but can I offer you my life instead?'

It'll fit, not always but when it does, god it fits perfectly.

And you'll be proud.

Because you said yes, you got there.

Or maybe you'll be alone, in your shitty apartment with all of the

neglected children running around barefoot in yesterday's clothes. And you'll still be smoking, and it'll be October something. You miss your shitty family, you miss those stupid yippee dogs. You'll miss your ma's drunken I love you.

And you'll be in between.

But that is still a wonderful thing, you never go backwards although you think about it every day.

And you'll be proud, because you can put your nirvana poster in the kitchen.

And you can leave the dishes in the sink for a week.

And I bet you'll still be something to be fucking proud of.