I will give Trump an award. He gets the most ******* MAGA head alive award. The trophy is Trump’s ego blown up head bobbing, you can hear the whistling wind breezing through his ears and his gapping mouth oozes toxic waste. Cheeto dust is his devilish glow. The number of crimes he committed is on his forehead in big bold dark orange letters as well his lies.

For the Trumpians I’ll toot your horn Toot Toot! Go back to hell. Donald J Trump is a recipe for Cheeto dust. The devil is calling for his son Donald J Trump, it’s time for his firey bath. He’s all Cheeto dust no sense. Even his ashes have a devilish orange glow. I wonder if his mother was aware she gave birth to a Cheeto. She will when he goes to hell on judgement day. **** to the Cheeto Messiah and his minion Cheeto worshipers. I'm pretty sure they will test the bath fire first, than Trump follows because they lied it's not Cheeto dust for his tan.

the image of Cheeto Face can’t be unseen
glaring at us through the tube
spewing forth random worthlessness
infringing on all who watched
how do you undo such nonsense

Brian Hill - 2020 # 269

I reminisce in the days my knuckles
weren't covered in blood,
but Cheeto dust.

On the run from myself,
disguises a face I no longer recognize
staring back at me
in the
mirror.

Black clothes were gothic
rather than mandatory.

Moonshine was the way the sky looked,
not a drink.

Innocence is held most dearly by those who no longer own it.

Children do not know what they have lost
until it is gone.
Object permanence fun,
not a problem.


Cheeto dust,
finger licking,
orange not red.

orange not red.

orange

not




R                            E                            D.


An unsettling sort of ending, childhood,
you can't pinpoint an end nor a beginning.










Hey, at least it was fun while it lasted.

a spicy cheeto
fell on my *****
but i still ate it.

i shouldve eaten
the cheeto instead.

This country was founded on the idea of being who you are in liberty, yet there are people trapped in closets because the monsters are on the other side and the darkness has become too comforting at this point; the face of death has become too beautiful to want to turn away. We are hidden, dancing around the idea of being hung as perfectly as that shirt that was “too gay”; planning our proposal to the Grim Reaper because, at this point, he is the only man who can “turn us straight”. We’re rolling out our blueprints and studying the structure of surviving instead of accepting that we’re different and actually living. The pride that used to live in us died a long time ago, maybe around the same time we were in the closet writing our suicide notes; for others, it was the day they were calling their loved ones for final words before their pulse was devoured by the hurricane.

This country was founded on the idea of being who you are in liberty, yet it was built off blacks and Native Americans forced into captivity; sold and sent off into slavery. The basis of this country is “freedom”, but… I’m still trying to find the point in time when we practiced what we preached, um - have you heard the joke about the Annoying Orange? He was elected president. No, wait, I think it was actually part of a horror movie. I’m sorry, was that racist? Because there are people on twitter who rant about how “REVERSE RACISM DOES EXIST” and “WHITE OPPRESSION”, now please don’t get offended, but it’s 2017 and the true founders of these divided, yet technically united, states are being held at gunpoint simply for being born that way. Just when we thought the crackling of our spines was enough to run the white boys away, they had to send their dads in to drop charges labeled “thief”, “****”, and “felon” on our shoulders until they crushed our will to live. Now don’t have hope on justice for that is nothing but a fairy tale. If you haven’t already realized, the dragon of their arrogance grows the more they see us fail.

This country was founded on the idea of being who you are in liberty, ...but we forgot to include women in the subtext. Did I say “we”? I’m sorry. I meant HE, and not HE as in God who created you and me, but HE as in the Annoying Orange and every Arrogant Coconut elected to run this country. Apparently, we must conform to their manly mentality, their barbaric way of living because

“Women are too emotional”

“She’s probably PMSing”

But tell a guy he throws like a girl and watch his estrogen crawl from the deepest corners of his eye sockets as he runs away; their faces flushed with shame… because being feminine is something to be ashamed about. Throwing like a girl is offensive. Losing to your girlfriend in 2k is not Ok.
“You must obey me” they say.

“You belong in the kitchen”

And all we knew to say was “ok”.

You see, I’m tired of being tamed by men and am regurgitating all these false allegations.

I will not stop eating chocolate cake to please you. I love chocolate cake. It pleases me.

I will not watch my weight to protect your pride. Loving my weight is my pride.

I will not do squats because you want to post a picture of me on Instagram under hashtag thicc. I hate exercising. It’s exhausting.

I will only stop eating chocolate cake when I start to break out in places I shouldn’t.

I will only watch my weight when my doctor tells me I will die otherwise.

I will only do squats when I want to check myself out in my new bikini in the summertime.

This country was founded on the idea of being who you are in liberty, but it’s difficult to get the message across without learning the word “respect”.

You. Heterosexual judging me. Respect our various identities.
You. Caucasian individual. Acknowledge and respect our black history.
You. Cisgender male oppressing my womanhood. Respect your own mother.
You. Liberal teen defending your right to believe. Respect the worn out Cheeto puff.

And you will see…

Maybe one day we will know a free America.

Would you still love me if my sea blue green eyes were puddles of icky brown like gas station toilet water,
Would you still love me if my locks of autumn sun kissed hair follicles fell off my head like they do seasonally,
Would you love me if my skin was orange like bright cheeto puffed style, and would you still love me if I had no nose,
Would you still love me when I'm sad and unconsolable,
With tears running down my eyes like the waters off niagra,
Would you still love me if I died,
Like not existed anymore,
Would you even cry,
And would you love me if I had no value to this world,
If everyone hated me and ran from me like a squirrel, Would you still love this pathetic girl, If she was all that she set out to be but couldn't. Would you still love her like you do,
Would you love me for all my ugly faults I cannot change.

Why am I not good enough for you?
You don't know my life story.
My upbringings.
My parents.
You don't know the Mother that raised me.
The mother who taught me how to be a decent human being.
The same Mother who's making 81 cents to your dollar.
Why?
Because of what's between her legs.
Why am I not good enough for you?
Maybe its the way I dress.
I'm modest.
I was taught the difference between lingerie and clothing.
I know what is appropriate.
I'm comfortable with myself.
Why do you have to degrade me?
For something as stupid as the genitalia between my thighs.
You discriminate and degrade people.
You don't see us saying, 'We're so sorry, but we regret to inform you, America, simply won't allow a Cheeto to be our PRESIDENT.'
You say that just because of someone's sexuality or gender, they CANNOT join the military.
Well, I don't know about the rest of America, but if someone is willing to fight for our country, that's more honor than anything.
Not like you're volunteering your life to fight for our once, accepting and loving country.
America the free.
Home of the brave.
A dream to most people.
It isn't as great as it seems.
If anything, it shouldn't be a dream to people.
It should be a nightmare.
A nightmare.
Why am I not good enough for you?
Is it because my parents taught me to love whoever I want?
Do you want to judge me for being an open person?
Are you going to degrade me for saying I love both girls and boys equally?
Do you know why?
Because a person...
Is a person.
Maybe my mind isn't as contorted as yours.
Maybe some therapy or medication can help alleviate my sins.
Maybe instead of judging majority of the country, you should judge yourself.
Maybe you should realize, you aren't as good as you think you are.
I'm not a nobel peace prize winner, but I can tell you how to resolve some of our country's problems.
Put a little love in your heart.
Love for all the people.
Love for those who's skin isn't as white as yours.
Love for those who believe love is love.
Love for the people who want to fight for our country.
Love for all those people who aren't good enough.
So I ask of you one more time.
If I am good enough for everyone around me...
Why am I not good enough for you?
#ProtectallLGBT

My Duma was a cat, just an ordinary cat to others but to me he was my best friend, and my heart.
My Duma had a soft orange coat like the cheeto's mascot on the chip bag.
My Duma had blue/green eyes and a loving face always there when you needed him around.
My Duma was friendly and loving but one day he had a leg infection.
When My Duma had a leg infection, the vet's couldn't do anything to help him with it unless i had thousands of dollars, even though i said i'd pay bits by bits in time just to help save this little creatures life.
I tried everything for My Duma, to save him and keep his little leg protected.
But these vet's didn't care, they don't care about animals they just care about money.
I had to put my Duma down, give him away, i don't know if he's still alive but i will always love My Duma.
Even though it has been abot 10 years since My Duma is gone, i still feel pain inside and saddened.
He only lived for 2 years but left a spot in my heart where he will always stay.
Funny and naive My Duma was, always wanted to play and cuddle.
I love you My Duma, i wish you could come back.
Even certain songs remind me of you when you left i had them playing.
I'll never forget my baby Duma.
Thank you, thank you to the vet's who killed a living creature who was happy and bright.

Got to get my Gogeta on
Time to go the cheetah runs
Beast mode I ain't cheeto
I'm cheetor
Turn the booth into Hogwarts I'm Dumbledore
My flow deep you rappers seas shore
I'm great in my own greatness what I need to compete for
Leroy kno I shonuff
I'm like Bruce Leroy with the Mic an dey Nunchucks
**** Ghostwriters ima Ghostbuster
My ghostwriter ain't even been discovered
Ha my spirit even more structured
So now you know who write these
See my spirit my Siamese
But I ain't Chinese
I wipe off blood on the Mic with a handkerchief
See I'm an endangered species
I'm rare only a few breeds of mine that ain't extinct
A TRIBE of mine an us them don't synch
It ain't a jinx
Never will I try to create a hybrid with these creatures
We could never have the same features
Being rare is much more easier
To be in this wildlife
I'm like how an lion would write
I hate the darkness cause I'm the son of the light

i'm making fish sticks in the kitchen drinking a blue moon
thinking about how i sat gracefully, weightless on your back while you laid there shirtless and i squeezed every knot out of you
like wringing a bleached towel out
and you
switched, sitting on top of me rubbing that sweet ******* anthropologie scent into my skin
and i told you what i wanted for christmas  and you apologized for getting cheeto dust on my down comforter
and we'll drive halfway across the country just to find ourselves in it
and you apologized for doing coke
and i apologized for not caring
and you held my face between your hands like some kind of heart shaped pebble you found on the beach
and i was glowing
and you let me scratch at you with needles and i was glowing
but i don't love you, and i don't think i could

i found it
buried in the couch
stuck between two cuushions
next to an old cheeto

come home
be with me

i let you throw
your shorn leg
along side me
requested acutally
but before

"come here
be with me"

i leaked
me

i got a minor in dogs
who knows what i was talking about
you walked in and shook me to my core
no not apple
what was i saying

A boxcar towards Detroit

A cheap ticket and no work week

Train ride rhythm and we stack for nothing

A few hours until conclusion

So I might as well tinker with time

Pick apart these scenes so consumed and complicate nothing

Hear goes one more run for the cynical articulation

Some faces surround for common ground

Some minds scattered by seclusion

Some contraptions consolidate the wonders

Another nod for the distraction tube

No need for introspection
No need for eyes made astute

Cheeto dust and pocket lint for your friendship fund

Cracks complicate a ceilings resilience

Buckets like ****** Toons
Deafening roar of water on tin
A window frantically frosted

Makes blooms blink and breath contract

Casually heads cluster

Laugh inside the sick and gleam a new gold watch

Knock and smile for another soul suspended

Salted avenues crunch like brown bag bottles

Some homeless frozen into earth

Some malignant machinery shrouds the crossings

Air like an avalanche
Face feels like nothing

Solidified fragments for the descent

Ponder another pixel and they fall around this body

Water sticks like concrete poured

Heater heaven for a half price function

I've never felt so low than when the high is momentary

I've never known a God that needed so much reassurance

The sun shines but the cold is never controlled

I wish for Palm tree torture

So why do I head North?

.

Left alone, the abyss of failure
closes in,
for days it seems like weeks,
though months are now reduced to counted minutes

Coffin’d stances form the stoic barricade
which surrounds my hope
in picket lines of untrained defectors

I claw at its lid,
thrashing mightily to my sides
as collections of miseries
flood this chamber of my coerced sleep

“I am here!” I shout,
hearing my words
echo in distance dance halls
two stepping on my memory,
spitting above where I lie

Here - a relevant term
as columns of disbelief carve themselves
from my mind.

Forgotten, left for dead,
erased from the blackboard
by the firm swishing hand of fate…
reduced to dust (I don’t feel like dust)

Blisters climb my arms in search of answers,
none can be found here,
where ever the hell here is… yet, I am here

My brain circles the skyline in desperation,
the gutters below cry, trash strewn as if it were me
sleeping off my drunk
in that Frigidaire box

“I am me!” I cry to the empty corridors of someone else’s life
One I’d rather be
Or one who would rather not?

…….

Someday my file may lie open,
atop a desk,
a partitioned sanctuary of hidden ethics,
beneath the crumpled Cheeto’s bag,
now layered with stale orange crumbs

maybe someone will see

maybe someone will wonder

or maybe still forgotten

Who will be the next White House resident?
Barack Obama set a precedent

I'm ready for the first woman…
I'm ready for the first Asian…
I'm are ready for our first Latinx…

What about an Amerind President;
Original resident as president?
Wow to that!

Which Hmong among us is ready to run?

Orange cheeto has to go.

Telling a lie
Always wanting to shine
When really I was polished the wrong way
My heart was really on decline

Saying her name
Used to be a praise
Now all it is
Is just a way to go down
And cry
Wishing she was mine again
When really she being gone
Was my pilgrimage to a great revival

Very vital
For my arrival that
I stay mindful
Of my trifles
Due to how I’m always tripping on the cracks
That makes everything black
Activating my brain
And making me rage
Since my temper is on edge
With my neck
That is carrying a lot of the sweat I get
From ******* tryna wreak my moderation
Tryna give me a education
In how to be substandard
And Rendered into something  
Worst than America giving a Cheeto
The leveage to all of our bombs

So now I’m just thinking about what you did wrong
Instead of my flaws
I’m reminding you of what you missed on
Always catching wrong
Missing all shots
Finally hit a home run
But didn’t run
Instead you walked away
And became a snob
Who couldn’t turn a ****
As if it was Brittney telling a song
Without hatred and love

Always switching up to benefit your life
But messing with my redefined mind
Which has no space to give you my time
So I’ma make this short and give you a new comprehension

Don’t look at me
Don’t say you gonna love
Or that you gonna **** me
Because all you really doing is lying to yourself
Because I’m non penetrable
Due to my thick skull
That’s always getting dull from whenever you wanna score
Instead you fumble
Like the dolphins in the playoffs
Now I wish you good luck
Since your sorry *** just loss all your luck
When you left me taking a piece of my
❤️

Nausea comes
never mind the robotics
Outdated and primitive
something out of an old horror show
Black and white
with pale mustache movements

Flicker for some change
silence in the monopoly
Orange blue skies in the forecast
radio towers shadow homes
Cheap but unstable

Swerve for the limo
with it's rented passenger

Make room for concrete
with it's finalized oozing
Conclusions in literal stone

By all means

Grow grass before you build

Let the time be captured before creation

Let the giants stretch one last time

Before they pull down the clouds for warmth

Before they make rain for thirst

Before they break stars for spite

Manmade for a time
they now mutiny against the gods

What gods nobody asks?

We eat nuclear dinners
while television glow illuminates
Slack jaw chewing

The bits we miss fall down

Nutrition for one hundred hungry orphans

Feel the warmth of giving

We donate at the register because we want salvation

But we don't share the cheeto with the bag lady downtown

Broken stair case
denial
Gray concrete
old and cracked

Message by way of cup and string
a voice from the past
Faded but painful
rusted yet lovely

Said she drank herself to death
sent a selfi from heaven
Saying she was right and I am doomed

We make lust but call it love
animals in denial
Chemical fueled collisions
and innocents is lost

Broken home renewal
pass the generation general
This war needs motivation
this money needs consolidating
These masses need thinning

nobody makes it to the bottom

We all look down hoping for a clue

But these gods prove elusive

Nothing manmade in the organic

Nothing humble in the insane

With silly smile, playing laptop keyboard
keys, I relay tales of brief, college bliss,
where days, like dry martinis, swiftly pass
lips that pucker for life’s capricious kiss.

My roommates bring joy and warm delight, like
late night Cheeto-fights to break-up study
drudgery - some chaos can counter stress,
though it makes a powdery-orange mess.

While we whirl and preen, when on party scenes,
we've embarked on the classic scholar’s quest.
We're earnest lasses, who pass-up passes -
well, some capitulate - we are human.

But I'm tempered by shame, and remembered
love's flame - and nightly I whisper his name.

I guess I could've
stopped the end of the world -
left in rotting and
tumbling into cheeto dust,
licking the residue off my fingers.

but I didn't want to
I flicked my tongue and
pieced the shapes back together,
destroying my own form
in the process

it was worth it
because I knew that
the butterflies would fly again,
you see

I fell hard for the head of that Isaac
(note the gravity of my event).
Over Tombstone I soared, on the winds of the Lord
Until Holliday’s bullets were spent.

Floating iceberg, I challenged Titanic
Single raindrop, got lost in the storm;
Genghis Khan’s mongol horse had ideas, of course
Stalin’s mommy kept baby Joe warm . . .

Perspectives from lesser-known players
May improve the morale of the team;
But a view from the edge of the forty-fifth ledge
Will compel true progressives to scream!

Have you noticed the wave on that wizard,
Washingtonian mage of the West?
You may dislike his ways, but it’s only a phase;
Now admit it; his hair is the BEST.

He’s the Cheeto in charge of your nation
Chief constructor of all that is Great.
Though you’re peeved at your loss, Mr. Drumpf is the boss
And there’s no more excuse for your hate.

I’m the roof on Melania’s husband
Call me carrot-top, call me toupée . . .
You can whine all you want, but I’m here to be blunt:
I’m the night after Democrat day.

I’m the hair on your wonderful leader
Driving liberals mad—and beyond.
The Deplorable’s turn: feel the heat, feel the burn;
Oh hilarious orange!  (No . . . blonde.)

There is a hole in her core she must sate.
So, she drives to the grocery store before it’s too late.

She steers the cart in search
of junk food.
She spots a case of cupcakes that can ease her mood.

Powdered donuts on a shelf she can reach.
Next, she chooses Bottled sodas, she packs up five each.

Muffins, Doritos, Cheetos, Funyuns and Snickers she will par-take.
She must not forget about the Little Debbie snack cakes.

Once the cashier starts scanning her vittles,
She starts to feel a tingly rush form in her middle.

She pays her fee then rushes to her vehicle parked afar
Then unloads the groceries on the passenger seat of the car.

As she sits behind her steering wheel.
She appraises her edible saviors, then makes her appeal

She starts with the Snickers shoving them down her throat,
The empty void inside her fills as she lets out a choke.

The Funyuns and muffins are next on her seat.
She devours them in seconds, puffing up her cheeks.

Doritos, Cheetos and snack cakes are inhaled like oxygen,
She is slightly starting to feel whole again.

The cupcakes are the last morsels of her stock
She washes them down with the soda she bought.

When the food is gone she observes the food wrappers in her space.
She glances in the rearview mirror but fails to recognize her face.

Powdered sugar and Cheeto dust crusting around her lips,
A sob escapes her chest as sanity begins to slip.

There is one more mission she must forgo
Opening her car door, she shoves a finger down her throat.

***** is released from her belly’s lair.
Stomach acid and bile sting the night air.

She appraises the regurgitation splattered on the concrete.
Then senses the empty void is gone, her task is completed

Psych-e-delic
******-phrenic
You are me and
I am you and
We are all together
See how we run
From a po-lice-man's gun
See how we die...
I'm tryyyy-ing

Sitting on a Cheeto
Waiting for The Men to come
Those big bad brutes
Lucy in a white suit - let's
See how the Jacket fits

I am the ape-man
I am the ape-man
I am the O-****
Threw-threw th' poo

Ketchup & mustard
Dripping from a
Po-po's ***.
Hee-hee-hee
**-**-**
Got-to-go
Got-to-go
See how they hie
Like pigs in a sty
See how it flows
I'm tryyy-ing.

Look at all the pretties
Lined-up-in-a-row
Sister Mary
Quite contrary
How does the
**** ****
Make manure
The scoop scoop
Make the garden grow?
I'm lyyy-ing

I am the ape-man
I am the ape-man
I am the O-****
Threw-threw the poo

8 arms a'flying
Tryin' to **** the Son
Watch how they ******
Watch how they catch
Ain't-it-fun?
Slithering along
Create a song
When-will-they-be-done?
Smokin' a ****
It's just WRONG

I'm crying
I'm crying
I'm crying


SoulSurvivor
4/10/2021

A history lesson with
An ever rising screed

A lesson not lost
Of human cost

"Island, water,  huge!" is said
By orangey Cheeto-head

her tapes wouldn't play
but nonetheless
       i love her
of time, when our souls
touched at that sinclair
gas station
       blue airhead
       cheeto socks
and while i daydream
she pays close observance
to me and my taste
and blows balloons
        and
tapes green, orange streamers
to the ceiling
while i, distracted
           **** on strawberries

i am 22 today

bearded and goth. I was his
flame, a butterfly dame. We kicked
up a rumpus. Both lost with no
compass.  Like a city rat

to a Cheeto I’m the sauce
in his burrito. And as flies
stuck to **** two tongues
swimming in the spit.

Like a weeb to ******
I was searching for
a Jedi. But as lambs walking
toward their slaughter this

only grew hotter, till the stench
of burning flesh took his breath. Laid
in a box like a drawer of stuffed socks
men paraded him to the overture of hymns.

Tick tick tick tick....
Bang!
A textbook slammed on my desk to pull me back to class from where i was lost.

A clock. A simple object sometimes a simple distraction with a tick sound that for most is easily blocked out.
Not me.

My brain is wrapped in train tracks with overflowing pit stops an non of it ever shuts down, the train is constantly going at full speed and randomly will come to an abrupt stop at a pit stop not of my choosing.

So while sitting in a room with everyday items and situations every and anything is something alien to my brain. My eyes never knowing where to look like two scared trapped creatures trying to find a way out, left right left right up down up down corner to corner to corner .

My hands constantly fumbling with something, my toes wiggle or i shake my legs kinda how you shake your water bottle when you want the flavor powder to mix with the water, oh while i was thinking of that im now in trouble because I've drifted away from my seat and have been touching random supplies and talking to everyone but its ok i made my teacher and everyone else laugh so im not as in much trouble but i have to sit back down and focus on the lesson which is i don't understand bc all i hear when someone speaks is the sound you hear when the adults speak in the peanuts.

Before i realize what im doing i find my self with pencil in had doodling on my desk spirals an squiggles along with funny the characters , i wonder if anyone else notices the fly on the window, what if its literally spying on us gathering information to inform the bug an insect armies they are being trained to take out humans.

Tick tick tick tick...
My eyes dart over to the direction of the sound to find myself back at the clock and its like i jump out my body and dive into the clock which is full of crazy fast moving gears that i run on and jump from one to the other following the sound of the ticking because i swear theres a tiny room hidden in the clock and the sound can be changed.

While I'm traveling around my weird clock world when someone speaks to me i freak out because my ears finally register there's something else wanting to be heard and then everything shatters i jump back into my body an spazz out like whoah who's that who are you what are you saying why are you speaking to me Oh! Its only Rachel the friend I've had since like 2nd grade.

The days are so different, sometimes I'm a social crazy person who talks till you tell me to shut up and im constantly wanting to go to stuff and sometimes im difficult to keep under control while others days the world freaks me out i mumble my words i can't think or speak and i get anxiety that builds and builds up pressure till i breakdown, people make me nervous, large crowds give me panic attacks, talking to someone or having to answer something makes me want to cry until the room fills up with tears like alice in wonderland.
I'll stare at you and while you speak but i can't hear you my brain doesn't process your words or that your actually there, i look at you but i don't see you, i look at your lips an there clearly moving but i can't hear the sounds or make out the words , I've probably only been focused on your tiny freckle under your right eye that most wouldn't notice unless you pointed it out.

Then there are outbursts that are so confusing, like ill freak out if your clicking a pen maybe i didn't yesterday but today i know i will, you wanna have a conversation today? I think not because whatever you're talking about for some reason today it just ticks me off so i just want you to stop talking and leave me alone. Textbook on the left side instead of the right side of the table today well that is just not ******* ok with me so i sent your name and address down to hell on a post card. You wore purple shoes today? Well ******* DUDE THAT MAKES ME ANGRY AS HELL FOR SOME REASON I DON'T UNDERSTAND. While at time the mirror becomes an enemy an seeing my reflection makes my blood boil and makes me want to smash it into a million pieces.

Im on a constant rollercoaster and my head is a chaotic fair everyday. Simple tasks for you are daily battles i struggle with and i don't really understand myself but they don't need happy healthy kids who feel there in control of themselves an there actions. They need well behaved kids who make good grades and get acceptable test scores that do as there told.

So i get a doctor who will squiggle some stuff on a paper, tell all the parents to pump there kids with drugs when they don't act how they want then the teachers shove you in a tiny empty room with no one else so i take the test and get those test scores there dying for but i don't posters taken down or the stapler put in a drawer or the clock taken of the wall because those aren't my only distractions, im my own distraction i can escape inside my head for hours on end or i can stare at my hands for the whole day thinking of every detail on my hand in deep detail like its crazy.

A ****** for me is that i love art and i love writing but writing is hard i know i make alot mistakes but also sometimes my stories or poems or whatever im writing can change into something different or i go off topic because my brain never stops what ever pops into my head i write it as i think it even if I'm writing an essay on president Lincoln if cheetos pop into my head I'll start writing about like oh president Lincoln was the... man i like cheetos ya know there so orange an taste so good an like you can have crunchy or puffy, crunchy cheetos are my favorite i wonder if president Lincoln would've been a crunchy or puffy cheeto kind of man.

I need a big trash can for my brain.