my life

my life


Yellow is my favorite color.

Maybe it’s my Gemini tendencies. Maybe I’m connected to the moon spiritually and it tugs at my emotions and thoughts like the tide. Maybe I’m stuck between this world and the next because I feel oh so disconnected from both. Maybe my happiness is different from other people’s happinesses. Maybe we’re all just living, breathing organisms on a floating rock watched by the sole being who thought of us.

Everyone seems to have it all together and I feel as if I’m the sole person trying to patch together my entire being. I feel as if I’m the only person who wonders if there is even another person wondering about them. I feel as if none of this matters. College and work and “goals” and careers shouldn’t matter. We have short lives and we spend them doing things we don’t like to please people who don’t truly care. We don’t have a stretch of life ahead of us. We are short stories in a book of eternity.


I don’t know what I’m saying but I know how I feel.

New Student Orientation (Hell)

“Just get me out of Summer camp, already and let me start college.”
What I learned at college orientation:
•Essentially, the only thing that matters is how many people you could possibly almost remember by face.
•Pep is what one cannot do without.
•”Oh, come on it’s not that bad.”
•If you don’t fit in; you don’t fit in.
•Gay guys are the best friends you’ll ever have.
•Change your personality for others.
•Have a G-O-O-D M-O-R-N-I-N-G!!!

I am so tired of fake bullsh*t.
Like, just tell me what college is really like, ok? For my whole life I’ve been told all these sugar coated things. I don’t need a barely twenty-year-old to tell me I can’t go outside during orientation lunch. I don’t need other twenty-something year olds to tell me that I need to “lighten up” etc etc.
I wish I didn’t have to go to college.
Life is just a huge high school.

It is art.

Better Days by Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros
Mayla by Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros

I have always been artistic. It is just a natural instinct for me to pour myself into a medium. Too many things in my head causes them to cluster and bunch together to the point where I have to take moments of utter stillness to chisel them out.


This new project I’m doing falls closest to my heart, I guess. I have this box of things. Jars of things. Bins of things. Thoughts and doodles scribbled on scrap papers. Things I’ve collected due to some odd sense of not wanting to lose them, seeing a glimmer of value and sentiment in them. Pieces of my life I’ve kept for years upon years. I’m taking these fragments and assembling them in a big book of me.

I’m smiling like an idiot because it all sounds so selfish, but I feel like it’s something I have to do. One step towards…whatever.

It’s like a huge scrapbooking project of junk.
Quite metaphorical, actually cx

I hereby challenge you to just create.
Create your world and mold your thoughts and slap shit on paper and call it art because it’s yours.

In art, I sow a bit of my happiness.
And I’m perfectly okay with that c:
I’m happy and no one person could ever take that away from me. Not ever again.

With love and messy hands,

If I Were On the Phone With You At This Very Moment

I feel as if my mind holds so much thought that the filters of writing and singing and talking and other human ways of communication cannot sustain the bombardment.
I feel lonely in this continuous rushing stream of life, swimming the wrong way.
Some are lucky enough to have boats.
Some have sails.
Some have those engines that perch on the ends of boats.
Some have lone canoes.
Some are missing a floatee.
I miss certain people.
I mostly miss certain moments in time with them.
I miss the phone calls that never ended.
I miss the guitar.
I miss the multitasking while cooking.
I miss the journal.
Sometimes I regret letting go of certain people, but then I have to remember not to regret.
I wonder if regret is a sin.
It should be.
The pain of remembering what has happened and having no power to reverse it is just as painful as the actual event.
Somber somber somber.
The good thing is that I do feel like I have much more to do.
More things to see.
More places to be.
But there’s only so many places.
And when the places start running dry.
And the adventures come to an end.
What’s left?
I’ll eventually have to deal with myself.
It’s all so silly, really.
It’s all about love.
Peel away everything and at the root of it all, we all wonder if we caught the eye of that one guy in that one store or if our ex-somethings were to run into us would they still deem us fuckable.
We all need to feel wanted.
We all want to be wanted.
We all strive towards something whether good or bad for it is the human condition.
Who can sit and be idle?
I treasure the days I laugh and play and carry on any way.
I am a bird in a tutu.
Goodnight or good morning or good something.
Let me fetch the moon and stars then we can both go far, far away.
Yours always,