Petty

Alright, I'll admit it, I can be a little petty sometimes. 

I can be irrational every now-and-then. 

And maybe, just maybe, I might be a little too emotional. 

I can crash out and push people away. 

I do tell stories with my spin on them. I am biased.

I will roast a mother fucker.

I try to be good most of the time. 

I try to be forgiving . . . but maybe that's a lie now that I think about it. 

I have a mountain of regrets that I try not to think about. 

I have a few broken dreams. 

I haven't really achieved anything. I just rant and write. 

I can be delusional.

I lie sometimes. 

I cry a lot. 

I feel so much. And it scares me. 

I am prideful. And I am selfish. 

I don't pretend to be good. (I just pretended to be 10 lines ago. Ha!) And in a world full of phonies, I am proud of that. 

I hook up with too many ladies. I don't know why anymore. 

I met a lady with a forked tongue the other day. She was covered in tattoos, and could barely walk. She had a year to live, she said. She was cute, in a way. And she said I have kind eyes. She sucked on my fingers with her forked tongue before giving me a hand-job in her truck, which did in fact smell like looming death. 

I am a mess. 

But when something that I consider is important, I really try. I really really fucking try. 

It hasn't really worked out for me yet, though. 

I am broke. I've never claimed otherwise. I understand money matters to most people. I know it brings a certain security and reliability in life. I know. I just never cared before. I never had anyone who needed me. I never needed to grow up. At 33, I've never had to grow up. That's probably why I still try. That's probably why I still have dreams. 

I wouldn't choose me either to be honest with you.

I am a risk. That is true. 

But when I care, I really fucking care. And I think I'm proud of that one, too. 

I am usually a little stoned. 

I used to be arrogant and angry. Now I am . . .  I don't really know who I am anymore. You'd think this writing shit would help but obviously you can see how many lies I tell myself. And how few truths I know. (I am literally telling who I am while acting like I don't know who I am. Haha. So funny bro. What is wrong with me, though? Do you know?)

I am sad. I guess I can admit that. I just said goodbye to someone that I once loved deeply two days ago. 

I screamed “Fuck!” Over and over again in my car today. I am angry at life right now. 

I am petty sometimes. 

I might be the problem. But maybe I met someone just as fucked up as me? Holy shit, am I as fucked up as her?? Oh shit, dude. Is that true? God, I hope not. Fuck me. Am I the problem??

I probably wouldn't choose me either. 

When did my eyes become kind?? There's no way. That lady with the forked tongue lied. 

I thought I knew what being sad felt like before, but this shit is on a different level. 

Why do we love anything at all? 

I am usually the first one to apologize. I am usually sorry.

Why do we love anything at all?

I am sorry for who I am . . .

CH 2/15/26