Art is my escape
The place I dare to dream,
Depositing frustrations
That make me want to scream;
Tying up the loose ends
Of mental threads about to snap
Seeking peaceful solitude
From a world that's full of crap.
Sometimes, pen and paper
Are the only things I trust,
When all around me shatters,
And turns to empty dust.
Here among the soft lights
Of lamp, and desk, and ink
I give into emotion
So I do not have to think.

Not feeling feeling
Cut myself out from the box of pain
Coasting through
Fixating ***** it up
Just getting by
Taking a moment with the sky
Saying hi
It’s cool to be here
Visualizing what I desire
I want more
I want so much more
Than what we had together
Taking risks to risk it
All or nothing business
We only get this moment once
Embrace each one
Even pain has purpose
The beauty that comes from it explains its worthiness
sadness should transpire into art
Utilize it
As long as we are living
Truly living
I promise to pen these bubbling words
And paint pain
To the end

Also: I feel ******* sick. Not physically. Although: sometimes the pit in my stomach feels like the point of this lose's impact.

Actually:  this feels incredibly age appropriate.

Also: I don't define myself by what I don't like. People know what I like. And that's love and poetry and lipy kisses and the final season of Girls and volunteering.

Actually:  when you said the word "actually" after anything positive or interesting, it made me feel like you defined yourself by what you didn't like and since we met, things got so good for you that you were pleasantly surprised by a constant string of nice things you started to see again (or maybe only started seeing for the first time).

Also: now that it's over, I wonder how often you say "actually."

Actually: I'm half freaked half stoked to see you Friday night.

Also: I keep searching for the perfect song to send to you that communicates exactly how I feel; mainly because we aren't talking right now and I've gotten so used to secretly coded  artistic messaging doing all of my talking for me. Something by Lucy Rose, I think.

Actually: I'm afraid to reach out too soon because I don't want to admit I want you and also I don't want to give you false hope.

Also: I think about you constantly. And also you constantly.

Actually: I killed it way too soon and started something new so fast that my head is spinning and all I really want is to say sorry to your bottom lip for my absence.

Also: I feel immense guilt.

Actually: that bottom lip I want to apologize to for my absence, I also need to apologize to for making stick out when your face was that red and your cheeks that wet. Because making you cry. Those eyes. Those sounds. ****! I'm sorry I ever made you cry. I'm so sorry. Please never cry. Never cry. Please.

Also:  I don't ever want the cotton of my shoulder to be so saturated.

Actually: I made a decision based on my gut that had me sure of myself for the 3 weeks leading to my birthday and now 2 weeks since my birthday, I can't find the security in my gut.

Also: 30 doesn't feel more secure at all.

Actually: I need space but I haven't been able to count on myself to create it.

Also: I'm super worried these feelings won't die because, even though I both do and don't want them to, I know they need to to make these feelings grow.

Actually: I know I said I was up for the gamble. And we really just might win it all. But I might also lose it all.

Also: I think I'm exactly where I am supposed to be in my socialization.

Actually: **** makes me paranoid and ***** makes me feel fat but sleep and cardio and water and caffeine make me feel ******* good.

Also: not a huge fan of raw fish that isn't tuna. Also: **** seaweed salad.

Actually: I just want to be the best version of myself. Character matters. I'm gaining experience. I want **** to be easy. It's not and won't be. And that's fine. I just don't want to hurt anyone. I want to search and feel and taste and

Make love
love
love.

One more drink is way too many
Life is so dense and heavy
With heartbreaks and I've had plenty
Love is not a crazy little thing
It's a massive wild creature
That wails and moans and sings
And I'm on the track as a feature
Just a small pawn in the game
In fact so much so
That you won't remember my name
Or so I claim to know