One Year Of Journal Entries.I guess this is sort of a summary of my year.More Like This
Let me start with reminding the few of you who have known me that long, of what I was doing this time last year.
I was upset because of my boyfriends drug use.
Since then, I have lost him, and multiple people from my life. I won't lie, it hurts. But you know what? I'm still living. I'm still here. All those people who I thought I couldn't live without? Well hey, look at me. Living and shit. I've learned a lot. I feel this year was really a wake up call for me. I was too needy. Far too needy. I was also far too immature. I don't think it was entirely my fault though, my mental health has been fucked up since I was a kid. My severe depression and anxiety distorted my view of the world, and as a result I've made a lot of poor decisions. I take full responsibility for my decisions. I made mistakes. A lot of them. But I know now that that person who would have died for love, and attached themselves onto the slightest amount of human affection is
the stages of being alonei.More Like This
she pulls your glasses away and
you question her with your eyes
you think she could almost find you perfect
if she subtracted the parts that seem wrong,
when in reality she thinks youll find her beautiful
if youre blind enough.
it started with a vanilla breeze.
that made her think of almost winter and almost loves
and warm skin on skin beneath sweaters,
that felt like standing twenty feet above the ground
and being scared of heights.
the structure of her cheekbones
and bright eyes were always lost
in a smile
but you tore the petals off flowers
and showed her life;
a worn out stem
standing out among satin.
her cursive ran together
in a mess of vertical lines
searching for a sunset with words
that never seemed to blend right and
left smudges on the page;
she personified the rain because
when it beat against her window
she felt less alone.
it started when she decided
love was a natural disaster and
plate tectonics would never rearrange
the structure of her h
PhilosophicalI'm out of sorts and out of touch.More Like This
Out of sync and out of rhyme
Out of mind and out of time.
Do you notice the minutes ticking away?
Do you notice the incoming Inferno?
No you don't.
You waste your time.
I single you out because there's more for us to be doing.
Writing and reading are over-rated.
So is education and sex.
Yet we still do it.
Maybe because it takes our minds off the impending doom.
It helps us focus on the future without being overly dramatic.
LIfe is unpredictable.
It throws us a curveball and we swing at it.
We miss - Life goes on. We wonder what could have happened if we never missed.
We hit - Life goes on. We wonder what would have happened if we missed.
Maybe it's for the better. Maybe not.
Have your fun.
Surf your concience overseas and realize
That sex isn't as over-rated.
It's just an outlet, an escape.
So is poetry.
I'm writing to express a feeling.
I'm writing to indulge in my own fanasies.
I'm writing... because I feel like