newbornvisions

 Your blog is dead. 

And I know I shouldn't have checked, it's not my business and you'd probably be pissed at me (youwerealmostalwayspissedwithme) but I clicked on anyway. You're still up there in that room. I have no clue if you still sleep on the top bunk or if you've deconstructed it. I do wonder about those things you know. I wish we didn't have to be enemies but you make it near impossible to be anything else. You've always been a dog. You gnash and bite after a warning bark. It's too much for me. I let you tear me to shreds because it was easier to point the finger than extinguish the flame. I feel like mush some days. Like a big, indescribable pile of innards. I feel like the baby on the doorstep being kicked from house to house like a football. You never liked my orange perfume. I don't really know if I like it either, it is a bit immature. But I love my hair in braids- I absolutely love it. I've put you out of my mind and washed you from my hair. Everything is moving so fast and it makes me scared. Maybe it's all catching up to me now. The runaway train is slowing down and without that sexy smog-haze I'm just a hermit crab without her shell. I fell in love with a girl in two weeks flat. I told my friend that my time with her made me "finally understand songs." You never made me feel that way but I'd lie and say you did because I figured that's just what everyone else was doing. You were so fucking important to me. Now I just put that energy elsewhere (thelieItellmyself). I'm a career woman- didn't you hear? Oh I've got it alllll figured out, don't I. What a fucking joke. I don't know a thing. 

I've considered it all. Bleaching my hair and joining the circus (youknow-theusualoffenders). I want my mom, man. But I don't have her like that, I never have. Maybe I'll try anyway but it's so late at night and I don't want to bother her. I just need someone to tell me that everyone feels this way when they're my age. I can't just be this level headed fucking boy genuis all the time. I can't. I'm a kid and every day I wake up and someone or something has tied my shoelaces together again. I have so many fucking people around me but sometimes it's still so lonely. I've been through hell and my feet are fucking iron- don't you make me walk on coals again. You won't like me when I'm red hot again. Raped, beaten, fucked over and fucked up. Chapter after chapter it's been fucking hard. I've always been an explosion and everybody who loves me knows the risks. They sign the waiver and promise not to sue when my shrapnel pierces them someway somehow. But everybody feels that way. BUT EVERYBODY FEELS THAT WAY. I tell myself this over and over and over again. I need a hug. I want to break down in your (chat this is a different you than the original you I mentioned) arms because I think you'd see me for who I really am. I did it. I did what I always do. I made a mona lisa of you. Smile? But you want him and I'm all me. Alllll me. All the time. There is never a break from this endlessly beating heart. Take it a day at a time, a pill every morning and every night. I think you'd understand too (another you) and you're honestly my best bet. Fuck- I'm so terrified of making a mistake. I need to pray there is just no other way. Only God can handle me. Only God can handle this. I need Him. 

I might as well post this publicly and let the ghosts of blogsites see my ruin. I'm really fine. And if you read this (the original you) then you read this. Hey- you might even see me as a person again. 

 My hair looks the way it did my freshman year. 

The way it did before I dyed it. 

The way it did before I cut it all off. 

Is stasis healing? Should I instead describe it as regression? What about rebirth? What beautiful metaphor can I make of such a simple thing.

I guess I can say it's symbolic. For the natural cycle of life. I tried to deny who I was but how can you deny the color of your roots when they're always just gonna grow right back in. It grows to be whatever color it pleases. And it will forevermore, without a doubt. No matter what I have to say about it. Maybe I just got it all wrong, so nature is making it right again. It's pretty funny to see the person in the mirror that you used to run so far away from. You still do sometimes.
 

 Such a big big world...

There is literally so much to do at all times and yet I feel so entirely unproductive. I've done... things... before... 

But I'm doing nothing now. Oh how it feels to rot.

Like an orange peel from a picnic that you forgot is in the bottom of your bag. You discover it weeks later, but it's known about itself all that time. 

You can strut your bright feathers but in the dark what does it really matter. You're just as plucked naked as the rest of us. Shrodinger's catfish. Just a hard prick with no kids to show for it LOL. All talk. So how do you be real? How do you walk the way you talk and say so humbly? Can it be done? Keep swimming buddy, maybe the next river will buy it. Ice to an eskimo. 

So you try to do it. You talk read loud and you say what you think. But it's wrong. It can never really be right can it? Not when you're answering to others. Try living in your own head for a change, you might like it. (butitssolonelytobemyself)