Pretty Places & People.

Back in the old city with the crowded buildings seeming endlessly cold. We sat across from each other at the table. My head propped, empty glass in hand & he talked & talked & I wasn't listening to a single thing. Instead watching the way his mouth formed the words. & I asked him when he feels the most alive but he didn't know.

& then one morning I woke up to light pouring in my window, the snow was melting so that it flowed in streams from the trees, back where it came from. Winter was over & at night I would rather dream alone in my bed. The next afternoon we stretched lazily in the breeze after running as fast as we could through groups of people & counted the tawny rabbits hiding in the bushes, gathered feathers & twigs to put in neat vases back home.

The hours go forward quickly & soon we are out of our cases on display, smiling, laughing, perfect light for the perfect photo op, all legs & teeth & hair & wit & charm & bad music & secrets whispered in ears, girls screaming, eyes drilling, but he grabs my face while telling me. . .

& now I've slept long enough to stay up the next month, I've spent all my money so everything is free. Buds are sprouting through the ground. I fall, I break, I grow, I believe in something that is pulling me each & every day to some indefinite destination. Who knows when I'll arrive.

Short Short Short.

I watched a young man sleeping on a train. & I wasn't wondering what he was dreaming, instead I just imagined what he looks like having sex. I practiced my french and minded my manners.

A city of smog & music & mystery & everyone together, but not really. I watched a man jump from a building to his death & now the building doesn't seem so high. That night I woke up from a dream laughing & I tried to explain to him that it really wasn't that funny.

I made a kite by tying a paper bag to a string. & when the wind picked up I let go. Even as it drifted away it wasn't free. Toujours! Toujours! I try to stay awake forever but I end up hating myself in the morning.

I dreamt of sunshine & seashores & trails of pearls. Woke up not clammy or anxious for once. I found some hidden treasures, they are my sparkly shiny secrets. I've not been able to cry in days even though I am sad. His skin was cold & I was too young to be his rain forest. Will I have to say goodbye soon?

A pitter pat in her ballet flat- she licked her lips like a tiger striped cat. She loved everything & because of this she was never free.

None of this will make sense.

My Brain Don't Stop For Nothing.

Some nights, I have dreams that I'm being yelled at. In my face & I can't get a word in. Telling me all awful untrue things about myself. & I wake up angry. I have dreams that come true. I wake up and I'm still dreaming. Pictures unfold infront of my eyes in my dark room. & I scream & scream & scream. I wake the mother fucking world up with my screams. Fucking world.

Sometimes people make me lonely. But not for other people.

Dirt, Dirty, Dirty Birdy.

This feeling of dirt doesn’t define me. It’s not the whole of who I am. It’s just the thing I’m dealing with right now. Even though I hate feeling like dirt, I’m allowed to hate it as much as I want. This feeling of dirt doesn’t define me. It’s not the whole of who I am. It’s just the thing I’m dealing with right now. Even though I hate feeling like dirt, I’m allowed to hate it as much as I want. This feeling of dirt doesn’t define me. It’s not the whole of who I am. It’s just the thing I’m dealing with right now. Even though I hate feeling like dirt, I’m allowed to hate it as much as I want. This feeling of dirt doesn’t define me. It’s not the whole of who I am. It’s just the thing I’m dealing with right now. Even though I hate feeling like dirt, I’m allowed to hate it as much as I want. This feeling of dirt doesn’t define me. It’s not the whole of who I am. It’s just the thing I’m dealing with right now. Even though I hate feeling like dirt, I’m allowed to hate it as much as I want. This feeling of dirt doesn’t define me. It’s not the whole of who I am. It’s just the thing I’m dealing with right now. Even though I hate feeling like dirt, I’m allowed to hate it as much as I want. This feeling of dirt doesn’t define me. It’s not the whole of who I am. It’s just the thing I’m dealing with right now. Even though I hate feeling like dirt, I’m allowed to hate it as much as I want. This feeling of dirt doesn’t define me. It’s not the whole of who I am. It’s just the thing I’m dealing with right now. Even though I hate feeling like dirt, I’m allowed to hate it as much as I want.

Giving myself advice.

Hey there honey bee, you are a lover of words you should write a book. Don't lay around on your days off in a dark room listening to The Smiths on a loop. Listen to some Motown on vinyl & move your feet. It's all about feeling good. Understood? Start building yourself an Eartship. You know you want to. You know it's all you've dreamt about for the past week. Don't let people make you feel like less of a person. Just try your best. It's the advice loving parents give to children. & it makes sense. Just do what makes sense.

Boop Beep.

I like pretty little Norma Jean.

Wild.

Hunger strike, hunger strike, hunger strike.
Practice my french, practice my french, practice my french.
Be perfect, be perfect, be perfect, be perfect, be perfect.
Cracked lips, cracked lips, cracked lips.
Dark circles, around my wrists.
around my eyes.

I met Rhythem, & she was indeed a dancer.