graduation

he told us about the pigeon water, his grey white beard giving me something to look at other than his round belly that probably shook when he laughed, i don't know because i was either looking at his beard or his hairless head or his wizened and adventurous eyes, he talked of de-socializing and
at times i dozed too much, drifted too far, and had to look at the trees or feign agitation at the sun in my eyes, turn my head away from wind that wasn't quite there
it wasn't the old man's fault
the entire weekend was like this, i'm always like this,
i seem to love spending time with people i hate
i thought i had a low tolerance for bullshit, it turns out it's actually quite high
it grows as i step on campus again, hi hey hug, to all the nobodies and then it slowly dwindles as i remember, as i stare
i doze, drift, look at trees
i used spite as my fuel, my oxygen, my reason for being
yes, there were the blankets and the photos and the punch and the twizzlers and the non-nobodies, but it all seemed like background noise to the scream of some injustice
some harboring in my soul that leered at the smiling families and the summery dresses
i don't try to be like this, i'm just always like this
but like i said, it all gets louder when i go back to good ole
the memories taunt me, and the old days laugh at the situations we're in now, mock how close we all were once, how distant we all were once, it's cruel, the way the past throws itself back in my face without a warning
throwing, and i freeze
the sun, instead of warming, paralyzed, and no matter how hard i tried to move, i couldn't touch anyone or say anything, i froze
i dozed, drifted, looked at trees
we didn't end up going to the playground or eating ice cream or being really spectacular like we dreamed, planned
the cat and owl with their large eyes, the crutches, the orange and blue, the seven broken noses, the rogue camera, all wonderful in their own way, some moments i would never change, would never ask more of
the old man, the others
but some of the others, i swear i could die from the shrillness of the voice coming from meaningless mouths, telling me stories i've already heard, expressing opinions that are tired, circuited, some
just make me want to scream out, EL OH EL I HATE YOU ALL, i've certainly typed that into facebook, then backspaced and thought of peaceful things
this weekend, thought of peaceful things, clouds sun trees blue eyes vintage cameras that get passed around mexican food fiery hair laughs smiles balloons bells, things like that fill my drifting
once the trees were fading, and the crowd gathered, dispersed, faces fell and crying rose, i fled
so it wasn't the old man's fault, or the burgundy's, or the sandals'
blame the fucking nostalgia and unlived realities and fucking fuck,
blame myself

i really don't LOVE being pessimistic, but i seem to be really good at it. not everything was awkward and horrible, but my nostalgic mind just ran wild. i always feel weird going back. oh, high school. i miss it and i love it and i hate it. i hate people. and i hate myself for being awkward and not a great socializer. ho hum. but i have brownies baking in the oven, so all will be well soon.