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.

Salutations.

I'm pretty sure a monster lives in me. & it takes over sometimes. I feel bad when it comes out & shows it's self to the one I love. But he takes it in stride. & he doesn't judge me. He understands. I don't understand how I can be so loved unconditionally by someone who isn't my flesh & blood. I love him more than my flesh & blood.

Il est de ma famille.

When I was a little girl I would walk to the grade school house in the mornings, & I'd walk home in the afternoons. On certain days I would have two cases in both hands, one hand holding a viola and the other hand holding a saxophone. & I was the happiest, with both of my loves in my hand. & they were there waiting for my little kid hands to bring them to life. I miss my first loves.