I asked to see your books

You asked for my heart.

scheduled outrage

And then the calmness of the rebuddle. I'm a mess. Were a mess. I am a true friend. I'm glad that just popped up. You're hopeless and I've got hope for you. You're my friend. I will take care of you. Were in this together, girl.

okay, i fucking admit it

I'm clumsy. not even that.
I'm a walking safety hazard.

i tried to play it off and trick people into thinking i wasn't as unsure of my body and where it should go as i am 19 and white. So the truth it unveiled. I was irrevocably birthed without the ability to be poised. I'm sorry for the mass confusion.

I'm sorry to Brian about his tooth.
and Hannah about her lip.
and my body for the bruises and scars.

how to measure time?

The thought of growing old scares the fuck out of me. Losing my facial characteristics. Being lonely. In a desolate home that smells of stale air. I don't want to be the old woman who is lost in time. With no sequence of events to look back on. No concept of the chronilogical order her life took place in.

Its scary stuff.

I've seen one too many fucked up minds create this happen through a lense. It makes me think that the idea of life and living has been evaluated from the stand point of sad and alone one too many times. But isn't it easier to just be sad rather than happy? And aren't we all inevidably alone in the end? The thought of never finding a true love is also a realistic fear of mine. Especially when I have so much love to give.

Its all just time.
Just time ticking away.

i can't leave here

Its the only place I know to go. To write in my solitude. To understand my own emotions.I've lied to myself for too long and now I don't even trust my own brain anymore. But you're in my head where you belong, you rarely leave. And I see you in my dreams. Please make sense of this place for me.

double-sided mirror

I'm so in love with the idea of there really being vampires. Or werewolves. Or mermaids. Wizards. Witches. Unicorns. Or anything mythical or magical. I feel like the earth is still so secluded. So hidden and secretive. What goes on in the dark? In the night. In the mountains and forests. African deserts and south american rainforests.

Who knows though. Maybe I'm so ready to pounce on the idea of it all being real that I've talked myself into being fucked up. Swayed. Or easily persuaded. I don't feel impressionable at all. Quite the opposite. Who else do I know like myself? No one. I feel something past it all. The inadequate life of us. Not religiously, just spiritually. Like earthly. All life contained. I think too much.

My favorite part about work is sucking the air out of whipped cream cans. My favorite part about school is getting tipped in 10 dollar bills and venti sized starbucks drinks. My favorite part about you is everything.