today i ate one scone a bowl of coco pops one custard donut and a bag of twisties. it takes a lot of effort to eat all that food and now i just feel sick and huge. and i didnt eat because i am hungry or for the taste but because she told me i have to start eating more...apparently i look like i have fucking aids or something disgusting/and i am not beautiful.

im addicted to reading certain blogs. this way at least i know im always listening. hopefully they know it too...

a certain one i love opened up more than ever by revealing his name...and at some ridiculously tall height with long red hair and a very short skirt, he looked more beautiful than ever, because he actualy looked comfortable in who he is.

my minds playing tricks on me
it talks in riddles
streets of poems
beatnik rhythms
side stepping out of time
recluse in me
wants to stay jumbled for a moment
where i can remember
how safe i felt
in a scalding bath.

my night

life
like
dont run with scissors
someone always ends
up getting hurt.

you should
always
drink water between
gulping down your insecurities
look after your phone
your self
and dont forget
they are looking at you.

she said 'think of me when you need comfort'
all im thinking right now is
one night and one day
is a very long time
to just be thinking.

i cant remember
sitting on the tiles
by myself
blurblurblurrrring
in and out of some decency
drink in one hand
and im in another outfit
fun happy party girl
resembling something of my former self.
stuuuummmmbbbbbling.

i would like
to stumble
in to her arms.

my pace quickens
i am running to find my comfort.

whinnnneeee

It's about time i made this thing readable...if i wanted to string together my moments of nonsense as done, i could've just written one very long stacey ann chin-esque ani difranco stained poem. or i could just have a journal 'dear diary my life is such a mess'. if the whole point of a blog is to post my efforts in a public -if somewhat annoymous way- perhaps its about time it became a little less-here's where im temped to use 'centric' though i'm having a hard time thinking of any other prefix other than phallo, and im still struggling for the word i want-internalised. i guess in a way i'm too scared to show the full picture of things, i don't want things to seem unbalanced i don't want to depict anyone in the wrong light. so i hold back, even if it doesn't seem it. i over dramatise situations, or i under dramatise because im too scared to explain the truth of how i'm feeling or what's happening, because maybe i feel like it doesn't matter if i miss tim or i love mel, or i'm sad or delirious or happy or anything. in dot point form i just seem like another fucking whiny teenager wannabe bisexual party brat. so lets start again, think about something other than forced poetic descriptions of self, and try for once to be real. and now im using words that are too wanky and sentences too long, and im running together my thoughts-makes me sound crazy/beautiful...in a way...mel thinks i am immature. i over react. she thinks that because i have no answer to her 'im not meaning to lecture you' talks that i am just too young to think of a comment. that if she grabs the skin where im beginning to leave far too many scars (i feel like early last year and i've told her too many times how unhappy i was then) then i will stop-then i will be reminded how foolish that hurt is. i wince, because i want it to be me who causes that pain. i cum when she slaps me in bed. i cry when she refuses to hold me. i laugh when we're alone together and we remember all the silly things we've already done. i breathe when she kisses me. i die (in the absolutely ridiculous metephorical and sometimes not sense) when she threatens to leave. and when she tells me she'll always stay.

and here i am again. making a whole lot less sense then ever.