Unlike everyone else, my heart is upside down, my views are backwards and my words are fumbled. I can only write so purely while being a scattered mess inside my head. There was a scene in my dream once.. where i was talking to a stranger who told me i should start writing a book. Funny how angels can transform themselves and hide in your dreams to lead you to a specific path. Almost like they built their own heaven inside your mind. While your beautiful thoughts and words are seeping through your lips, they gracefully slip a long with them. angels, demons, or devils, whichever you choose to believe, are always inside of us.
Being domestic, cooking, cleaning, the whole nine yards. Mostly because i finally furnished my home and find it extremely hard to leave the living room/bedroom. I also barfed up my intestines due to eating like crap on top of being vegetarian. (so attractive.) If you wanna do it, you gotta do it right. So the martha stewart in me is stuck in the kitchen whipping up some new recipes I looked up online. Writing and working on my second chapter in my novel tonight. Sharing soon..
Something gets me nothing
and nothing’s such a waste.
november nights, song lyrics, sunset skies, afternoon naps, birthday candles, empty bars, winding roads, spring cleaning, campfires, fresh linen, midnight kisses, fancy dinners, rooftops
To be honest, i wouldn’t be able to just pick one. I have so many beautiful memories that i hold on to, my childhood was full of surprises
“Learning to love life by living through loss and mistakes. Lessons learned then gradually surfacing, Letting go, stripping naked to scream. I am not perfect nor do I strive to be, I am alive in this world of face first falls and public breakdowns. I’m a retarded, disfigured clown. Dying to be heard through the simple art of letting this heavy wall finally fall. I’m an equal being of no race, or color, a hallucination if you will. Sneaking into the lives of strangers, and letting them fall apart to a new rhythm just to feel better.”
I am a fragile creature with messy hair and half moon eyes, at times I smell of magnolia, jasmine, and sandalwood vanilla. Oscar Wilde once said, “Never trust a woman who wears mauve, it means she has history.” If he would have been alive to meet me, he would definitely not been at ease. I feel as if my whole body should be made up of this color. Well Oscar.. we are all made up of history, it is weather or not we choose to repeat it that differs us from the rest. I feel as though I’m seeing everything clearly for the first time in months, the way an addict realizes the relapses are never worth his last breath.