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.

It's been a long time coming.

I have a date with a bottle of wine tonight. It knows me like no other.
I have to write here because if I don't my words will end up where they don't belong. A note slipped under your door while you're sleeping. You'll think I'm gone but I'm just crying in my car.
How can I describe things? You're the sun I orbit around. I lost my gravity, and now where am I? I'm off course and colliding through unfamiliar masses. I'm somewhere I don't belong at speeds I can't handle. It's too hot close to you.
Its something I have tethered, and something that leaves me weathered. Its all the natural elements I'm made of and you're all the ones in climates I've never lived in. But I bear up against them, I tough it out. I ride out, I rise above. I have to.
I'm a moth to light! A rodent to rat poison! A girl with a crush, who wants to crush and be crushed. I'm a secret talent. I want to be the exhale. Not just a breath out but a relief. I'm the strings on the instrument, plucked and slid across to make a melody and a story or just showed off. I'm the punctuation that conveys emotion. I want to be final. I want to be a culture that those people know and the others admire. I want to be the candle lit beneath your face to give you a beautiful glow. Your wine stained lips after a night of talking and laughing and learning and love. Even the signature on your tab when the night is done, folded in your pocket for records to keep living. Its the curiosity that killed the cat and the 9 lives after. I wanna be the dream you have where you wake up disturbed but hoping it picks up again. Its dark and dirty and smoky. I want to be the alias that keeps your identity secret. I want to be seen and all encompassing. And that blinking line while you're thinking.
It was too much.