Untitled
poetry
I feel so out of the loop.
All I ever wanted was to be a part of someone, to yiff with someone, to love with someone, to be healed by someone, because that was my dream, that was someone's dream, I believed.
I spent my entire life in pursuit, placing all other cares aside. School and social and esteem, I do not know any other labels right now. I do not think any other labels matter right now.
I am sitting, looking down on my right at my desk, at my medicine box and my PayPower Terms and Conditions, Terms and Conditions for my Prepaid Card, thinking how much worthless good it will be for me to feel this self-pity for myself. But, doesn't everybody, at some point?
I feel so out of the loop.
I do not care if I were to die of alcoholism or drug addiction or a broken heart, as long as one childhood dream were to come alive tonight. I have done hard these last seven hard months to create a comeback to make something of my life which my last five years I've decimated and decayed into a pile of dung.
I am not ashamed to say so. I own up for my mistakes. When I should have gone home clean to Silver, I did not. I came home from the rent, but I did not do so clean. I left the apartment at 4:30 a.m. on a frigid February morning in St. Charles, Missouri, and worked at McDonalds, and when I came back, got chewed out for being high on cough syrup the previous night and forced to leave the apartment. I packed my backpack as best I could and left. I did not deny. I left.
Now, I'm Omega, a lone wolf, speaking my mind, and I'm not out here for five star votes or comments, although that would be nice, but love and affection and a goddamn nuzzle is all I fucking care about because isn't that what we are here for, goddammit?
From what I gathered, this is not about popularity. Furries are outcasts, to a degree. Druggies are outcasts. Well, I am a drug recoverer, and although I am doing a 50/50 job, at least I am being honest, and it would be nice to find some fur at an Anthrocon that was not fucking stuck up and full of him or herself because he or she listened to Green Day or wore whatever the latest fashion was. I'd be more interested in how much you drank last night and how you were able to somehow stumble to your hotel room without freaking out some wyld cutie in a fox fursuit at four in the morning.
I feel so out of the loop, but I don't care, because I am putting myself out there. I love myself for who I am, and I am not even sure what kind of fur I am. Full of paunch or lots of bones, Mr. Trump or Mr. Bones, it does not matter in this day and age if a fur swears, because what really matters is the authentic honesty they wear.