And they talk and they dance and they feel the wet grass under their feet. They look free, appear free -- act freely. The light peeks through her blonde hair. Everyone has a nickname because their real, given names are far too intimate. They share secrets but their secrets are lies -- they're hiding something. They spin freely, wildly, madly -- lacing fingers and arms and whispering prayers of eternity. The words themselves are even more intangible than their wishes. They lack communication and rely on the waxes and wanes of the moon for signs of decision.

We know who you are and we know how sad you've become. We're all spinning. Like fireflys tied to a string that hangs from some stagnant branch. We know they can't hear our whispers but we pray aloud anyway. For love, compassion, tenderness -- something above our spinning. Something that will cause us to slow down.

They burn but never bloom. The spinning never stops and the compassion never comes.

I think it's time you found a new hobby.



Something that doesn't involve chasing some illusory holy grail of maturity, growth, or personal development.

Don't mind me; I still expect you to dream big.
That's all we can do.

(photo via yimmy's yayo)

It's like I never existed at all. That's fine. Let me be a vapor; a ghost.
1. I liked that you were quiet at first but the only reason why you were quiet at the end was because you were sneaking around.

2. I trusted you at first but the only reason why I was so distrusting of you at the end was because I knew were doing untrustworthy things.

3. I am NOT insecure, I know that now. The only reason why you threw that card at me at the end was because you were doin' your lil' dirt on the side and you used my hurt feelings against me to make me look and feel crazy.

You can run, run, run but guess the fuck what? I do exist. And we existed together. And what you did was wrong. You can run away from things but you can't run away from yourself.

Even I know that ..

I have made my decision,



and next semester; I will be Houston.
Do or die.

(via yimmys yayo)

Moving to Texa$, gone get me a slabbbb (;

I look at my life for what it is. Regardless of my mistakes, shortcomings, trip ups, etc. I'm here and I think I'm doing a lot better than I'd like to admit. Some nights I worry and I cry and I feel like somebody out there owes me the fucking truth. But I don't want your truth or hers or his. I want the truth. But I know what happened. I mean, it happened to me. In this way, I have received truth. I go over it time and time again but the story stays the same. I have the facts and I'm running with that.

Commit yourself to kind words, kinds acts and a life of compassion. Sometimes I weigh the benefits of trying to be a good person in a world with so much negativity. I've tossed these thoughts away and in doing so; I promise to remain myself. Loving, caring, down-to-earth, hard working -- vivacious. I am all of these things and a few cuts and bruises isn't going to change that.

You either rise or you fall. And falling for me means giving into all of this toxic shit around me. Giving into being bitter, giving into childish behaviors, giving into acts of revenge.

I'm growing and to be honest: I've been ahead of you for a very, very long time. I'm moving.

more ME,
less you

I'm back, for real this time.

You have become the darkest of all dream figures. Leading me down paths to nowhere. Abandoning me in places of ignorance and greed. Places where my light is not celeberated but merely a calling card to all those who lurk and scheme to manipulate my good nature. You are the source of nightmares, my cold sweats at night. You scare me. The darkest, darkest eyes. Empty, vain, ominous. I used to love those eyes. Now, having them fixed upon me maliciously in a dream, I hate them. And I run from them. Like those two, enormous, evasive eyes looking over Gatsby and Daisy -- you are the intruderer. You melt and mold into my deepest fears everytime. A slick, oozing puddle of liquid despair. You set the trap and I wake up defeated. 

I have to remind myself time and time again that it was "just a dream", that you can't find me and deep down you're not that vindictive of a person to go out of your way to hurt me.

But it's too late an I'm already running.

Separation anxiety

I realize now that I associate the deepest and most embarrassing type of shame with being alone. If you live alone, have no friends, no spouse, no family; you are a failure. Completely irrational when written yet totally rational in the confines of my brain.

I wear this shame everyday and everyday I wish I could escape it.

The Humanist model

I, which is the subject of a setence -- or the individual (or the mind or the free will) -- is the center of all meaning and truth. Words mean what I say they mean, and truth is what I perceive as truth.

Romeo

You say a lot of things that don't matter.

Everyone I know

has got a reason
to say:



put the past away
i wish you would step back from that ledge, my friend
you could
cut ties with all the lies that you've been livin' in

and
if you do not want to see me again
i would understand

Somedays

I care but somedays I don't.

Today?

Not so much.

Have a beautiful weekend everyone!

I should be reading

For one of my many, intense lit classes but I don't have the particular book I need so F it. Way to be on top of things, Carmela.

September is such a beautiful word. I cannot get this month of out of my head and it hasn't even started yet. I'm so sleepy, so tired of the heat and running around and just feeling like a zombie, hiding feelings -- pretending, really. I know things get better with time but you don't notice the effects of time until later on down the road.

I am focused, I will say that. But my mind does wander from time to time. And when it does, it wanders to a place of hurt. A place of regret, anger, and downright negativity. I hate you.

I hate you for lying. I hate you for manipulating me. I held on to every fucking word you said like a fool trying to catch raindrops. You're a phony. You're fake. You think you know what you're doing but you don't. You run around trying to act like an adult all while hiding that little tail between your legs.

You piss me off. I piss me off. I let you tie all those strings to me and soon I didn't move, I didn't peep unless you motioned me to do so. Who the fuck are you? Honestly. Who are you? What the fuck did you have over me that I felt so obliged to give everything I fucking had to you?

Who the fuck are you?

You're not real. You don't exist. You're a ghost, that's what you are. You float and float and float. You can't touch anything, grasp anything, feel anything. You're empty and hollow. I feel sorry for you.

I feel sorry for me. For having ever put so much effort into someone so empty.

I can't lie. I, myself am not a ghost. But my heart feels like one. Empty and hollow, transparent. Nevertheless, there is a small flame burning inside of me. Bright as ever, full of compassion and love and truth and beauty and a yearning to connect with others. Still. After all of this, I still want to live and know love and grow and read and write. And be myself. And learn how to keep myself for me.

It is a difficult, winding road full of rhetorical questions and tears and bruises and things I will remember for as long as I can remember them.

But the flame is there. Casting a deep, amber glow across all the things I've ever wanted for myself and all the things I want to achieve.

And that flame is faith. And it's mine :)

Who am I

supposed to watch football with in the fall?