Ballooning.

Tonight is painful. And when I think about this blog that I have, I'm sorry for those of you who read it. Its a sack clothe of tears. Maybe because, I have nowhere else to hide them.
Tonight I miss you. Do I miss you? Or do I miss what I gave to you? Do I miss what you took from me?
You live in the hills with your money and comfort. I live in the trees with my cold and my hunger.

trapeze artist.

i just had this thought today, riding in the backseat of the car. what a beautiful illustration lies in a trapeze artist. and love. lets all be honest with ourselves. don't we all think about this all the time? its how we're made. we are looking for our partner. the one we jump to. the one we hold on to. the one we trust. love is a circus. its bravery and beautiful, and ridiculous. its made of so many uncommon and common things. its all for show. for pride, in ourselves and for others.
i am on the tight rope. or at least my words always are. words, feelings, they are one in the same. balancing my words on those crisp lines, with my death just beneath me. its just to impress you. to make it to the other side, with hope as my safety net. who are you in the circus?
i would pay money to see that show.

i.am.

so. pissed. at. you.

i'm a bum in your city (!)

take me to the city
when the evil is out
dress me in black
so i can let your light out
its glittering and glistening
you're shouting and i'm listening
you're grabbing my wrist
and kissing me hard
i'm walking with my feet
but you're leading in my heart
and then we're off and running
but you're above me and stunning
in this motion they call loving
and we get tangled up in beaded lights
when we're kissing against inner fights
but at least we're in the city
where its dark and you can feel me
and you can whisper just to heal me
cause my body won't forgive me
we measure what we have by sky scrapers
and call the commoners the messed up haters
but if you're the city, i'm your sloppy bum
stealing someone's change so i can give you some

faces are for books! not facebook.

I'd like to draw a bigger circle with the word facebook inside, and then a line through it. we're fighting. I have this love/hate relationship with it. Stupid facebook, you waste all my time, and break my heart.
I like this blog page better. It's out there, but not so out there. I love secrets, and this is the secret room, hidden in a closet, that I play in, in this internet childhood of mine.
I've been thinking about my life lately. And wondering how things will end up. What should I do next? How do I do it? I think about going to Sweden. I think about making closer friends so I can go to wherever they are. I think about my job. Everyday I walk in there and know its not what I want to do. But does that matter really? I was meant to be a journalist. To travel and ask questions and write. But why do I have to be a journalist to do that? I can just do it. I am always watching people and wondering about their lives. I want to carry a little notepad and ask them about their day, take a picture of them with a polaroid camera, and then write their story. My most beautiful cosmetic would be ink stains on my fingers from writing and reading and reviewing. Tears, triumphs, and battles all smudged into the tips of my fingers.
All I really want is for you to read what I write.
My life right now is a wrestling with, well, life. So now I'm going to sleep, because I'm tired from thinking, and hoping, and praying, and breathing with a ton of bricks on my chest. But slowly, my weight is and will become lighter. And instead of trudging, I'll be running and laughing, and crying, but just because I'm happy.
Good night with castles in the air.

enough.

its time to be happy now.