I love my room but I am ready for a new one. This is the room that I reluctantly shrunk in. This is the room that knows me better than anyone else ever will. This is the room that I am growing in. I am ready for a new room.
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I want to curl into a mountain and sleep for days. This isn’t just another Piscean universe. I hate my human-ness it makes me sick to my stomach. My thoughts have the capacity to scare someone. All of a sudden I’m crying. I don’t know what the fuck I’m talking about. I only get this way at night, I swear.
Today I kind of want to die but I’m not stupid. I’m used to this.
I wish that I never tattooed my feet.
Crippling insecurities will eat at everyone and then leave only the bones. Pull your shoulders back and elongate your torso. Is it wrong to feel so fragile sometimes?
Instead I’ll think about laying in lush, wet grass and sinking. I can feel the sun in every follicle, an electric buzzing starts in my toes. I’m going to blend into the ground and play with the hem of my dress. I can hear engines rumbling through the dirt and I know what an open car window feels like. The trees and wooden porches are groaning in the heat. My thighs stick together and my hair is always greasy. I am grateful.
“I have big plans for you n’ me, kid.”
Finger painting one line across a wall. What does that even mean? The paint stays under your fingers for days. Imagine a video recording where you can hear the film rolling and clicking and jamming. There is nothing but natural light and that’s the way that it should be. Yet, the soft glow of out of focus bulbs. Electric signs blinking, trying with all their might to stay on. Music playing from another room but it’s turned up enough to just reach your chair, floating in and out of ears and around the sweat induced curls on your head. I’m going to go fall asleep on a hard wooden floor for a while and imagine the white brick walls of Never Neverland.