to record my emotions, poems, lyrics, funny quotes, daily life, doodles, words. . ANYTHING
on paper. i plan to do this daily just like i blog daily (or try my damnedest to)
i felt so productive this afternoon recording bullshit really.
seven pages (thats bizarre to me) but i did it.
i'll even post some of my writings on here.
im really excited about it.
all of it.
with all the stress im feeling at the moment, i feel like blogging and writing calm me down.
at one point i did art, that really relived the stress i was carrying- but recently i havent done one thing with that.
i think im going to pick it back up.
so much to do and so much i want to be doing instead.
that's life.
here is a sample of my notebook from today:
BITCH BITCH BITCH
[the start of almost everyday is a bitch fest.] (hah)
Cold winds fill the air
As she stands in freight
Her teeth start to chatter
Her face turns to white
The void that is in her grows deep and wide
She can barley see what faces her through the tears in her eyes
Silence slips between her and she fears it
The only thing of light is the moon and his spirt.
i just got asked what my name was at work
by 6 cute black girls.
My name tag today reads "Sean",
but i told them that was my alias.
One of the girls said hers was April.
Sometimes i wish i had an alias...
Sean, the badass, man eater, sex kitten,
who takes what she wants, then
mysteriously vanishes...
God, i wish i were her, and why can't i be?
No one knows me here.
or does everyone know me?
Can they see right through me,
can they see at all,
and if they can, what do they see?
Im broken, but somehow i put myself back together.
Usually im this hybrid of
what i once was. Stronger, but still a hand holder.
I wonder when my hand holding days will stop??
Maybe when i move, maybe never...
Why is it that when i try to speak
Blah Blah Blah Stutter Blah Blah comes out?
I need help! I declare that I get help!
My talking skills do in fact need to be noted and
evaluated. Im probably a psycho & no one has realized it yet.
What if i had the mind set to kill...
or leave my husband for a 54 year old barback
who works at the local hipster nightclub.
Oh God. let this all be lies...PLEASE.
I think i think to much.
somethings i wrote down today in the notebook..
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