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and she came home from having Sunday brunch at the bar
and wondered what home even was
for the millionth time
you'll never read this.
you never loved her.
the bartender had so many piercings in her face that it was a signature. she had been a forward and a right guard in footie/soccer. She explained all the things and lovingly showed pictures of her sister the goalie at some obscure college. it was sweet. she spoke to Lionel next to her about sports philosophy and how macon didn't allocate the money to put back the basketball goals.
it was all nice.
she drank.
she ate.
she shot the shit.
she had never had a father who loved her.
she had never had a mother who made up for it
she just tried to not be trouble and entertain them.
her sister had been a swimmer - all competitive and shit.
narcissi had done softball.
she was still angry at it.
she still btiched at the sporty pierced barkeep, "but why?
why would they choose huge balls for women to hold when small balls fit our hands so much better."
Lionel agreed, "I love playing softball."
she smiled.
she ordered food.
she thought about her stepfather and how it would have been great to have had him believe in her.
but none of it was true.
she had been born.
she had been born really really intelligent.
she made up stories.
to try to survive.
they were often wrong, but it didn't matter to her.
she had no way else to survive if she didn't make something up.
the other choice was
they don't love you.
they don't want you.
zero
one
instead, she made it all up.
she had really really really really really really really really really
believed you were a one Leon - as your name says Le One.
but it was like
li' sweatpants
all a fucking joke
on her.
wah wah
happy Father's Day.
thanks so much.
you made me learn
I'm a body to be used or I'm nothing.
play on.
She laughed, "how could Saudi Arabia -with all the money in the earth - not be better at soccer? how could Spain win? do the math for me."
they couldn't.
the bartender just said, "if you think women are the drama queens, play sports. these men? they are fuckng babies. they will lie about an injury to get time. the women are just 'let's go. let's get this going. they will kick you in the head. they will trip you over your shoe laces before they had guards."
"it's funny you say that. I read somewhere where the Ancient Greek generals were like 'look prisoner, if you don't talk, we'll put you on with our women, and they are so so so so much more lucidly cruel."
happy Father's Day.
fuck you all.
love ya
she was so tired of bleeding. for the millionth time and day.
she wondered what she would do if she knew that someone she loved wrote a column trying to document the undocumented self. she thought she would secretly read it.
not one human in her family ever cared about a word she wrote. they just seemed to think she was
a problem.
that sucked.
and a father - someone that could maybe champion her?
fuck that.
grow up fifty million year old
fucking woman
you suck
we always knew you'd fuck up.
now we get to watch it.
drink.
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