The things. The people. The smiles. Real and otherwise. The wondering. Why. What. How. When. Just stop. Literally. Stop. Talking. Judging. Sneering. Whispering. Literally. Just. Stop. Fuck this feels heavy. Why is it so fucking heavy? Why so confusing? I don’t understand. The people. Seriously. What the fuck with the people? I don’t understand. I don’t judge you. What the fuck does it even matter? Edges.
Just be yourself. Yourself but not too yourself. You know? Just a little less yourself. Not that much. Don’t make people uncomfortable.
I don’t get it. Sunshine. Ocean. Beaches. Bicycles. Handstands. Music. Road trips. Coffee. Tattoos. Art. Beautiful words. Pitbulls. Blue. Gold. Glitter. More smiling. Edges.
Try not smiling this time. I don’t know. Happy but not that happy. It makes people insecure and irritated when you are that happy. It makes them sad. A little less happy. But don’t brood. Don’t complain. That would be even more irritating. Try somewhere in the middle.
The middle. The grey fucking middle. The vanilla fucking middle. The blend into the background fucking middle. The solid B minus C plus middle. Edges.
You know we love you.
Don’t be so fucking mean. Edges.
You can’t always have what you want. That’s not how life works.
Really? Watch this. More tattoos. Yes. Lots. Redbull and vodka. I’m gonna burn the man and some other shit too. Fuck the white picket fence and the white man in his late 50s early 60s who built it and owns all the fucking land. Fuck the wedding vows and the day job. Fuck the 2-car garage and the retirement plan. Fuck the bitchy mean soccer moms and their lecherous husbands. No mortgage. No savings. No benefits. No fixed address. Postal. Postal. Postal. FUCK ALL OF YOU. Edges.
Settle down. Let’s just drop it.
You can’t drop it without letting me defend myself. I’m trying to figure this out. Why is everyone fighting with me? I’m not even fighting. I don’t understand. Edges.
We’re just worried about you.
Fuck. You. Edge.