tiffanyann127
consuming my thoughts all day, when I should be thinking of other things, important things that I need to get done, it pops into my head and I obsess. Shapes, my shape, my figure, my body. the shape I see when I look at myself. I dissect the inadequacies, the intricacies of every fold and curve of a body that is foreign to me. a full, supple body, screaming sex and fertility, warmth and comfort. it overflows the mold of accepted beauty, too much of me, my shape belies my vices.
I want to see new places. I want to delve into the rain forest and experience life in the wild. I want to see the world. Maybe then I will discover what makes me happy. Nothing here has done it so far.
I always thought that I would be a writer. It seemed to almost be a given. Everyone told me I would be, every teacher and professor I had, my parents, my friends. Somewhere along the way my words escaped me. The voice inside me was silenced, a blanket had been thrown over my muse. This is why I am here, to slowly unearth that voice, to discover whether this is what I meant for, to write. I live and breathe words, letters curl across the air as I have a conversation. I spin my own experiences, fact becomes fiction becomes fact again. The lines blur. I can almost hear my muse's whisper...
A few words strung together. An idea. Maybe just a fragment, a glimpse of a lingering thought. How do I put it all together to let you know. How do I phrase the words to tell you goodbye.
I lie here on my loveseat, my makeshift bed. he is on the full size couch. this is how we spend our evenings, he's asleep and I bide my time with my old friend insomnia. his rejection is no great drama, more like an indifferent glance before rolling over and snoring the night away. is this the life I have chosen?
optimism is ignorance. there is no amount of good in the world that can convince me that the bad is bearable. optimism is ignoring the reality of the world. optimism is naivete veiled in gum drops and rainbows. optimism is for the privileged and wealthy, the sheltered and inexperienced. optimism is dangerous.
It went off in the middle of the night, waking everyone from an unsteady sleep. The night sky lit up as sparks flew and a fire started, the noise from the cannon deafening us all for agonizing minutes while we abandoned our warm beds for the cold steel of our revolvers.
stick em up
keep em high so they won't
catch you
with them down
down down down
stick em up
and stick it out
stick your chin up
they can stick it up their ass
stick to the plan
and stick em up