I spend most of my time torn between wanting coolness and productivity and nonchalance and things that my family can tell the neighbors to make it seem like I’m on the right track in life, but then I’m waiting for the train and I feel everything all at once, or I’m in the basement in my socks finding poetry in a goddamn laundromat, and I don’t know where to find the “me” in any of this. What’s okay and what’s not, what I’ll regret and what I won’t, and why the things I love embarrass me so much and why passion makes me feel vulnerable and red in the face when passion is the only thing that fucking matters in this world. I just feel cheap under the amber of these streetlights, exposed in the face of the fluorescence of these headlights, and all I can do is keep walking. Keep making eyes with strangers trying to find the human in them all, trying to understand what it is about humanity that makes me love it so much when we all have every reason not to- maybe I’ve just never cared much for fact. Things that are solid and tangible and “worthy” of being. And I’m afraid of living my life in a perpetual state of naivety and idealism and childish indecision, but goddammit, life can trap you sometimes, and all I ever wanted to do was to keep the windows opened.

I’m tired of chasing it around. I need to focus on things I can control. There really is no point on being sad about trivialities and people. I can’t pick and choose who to love and who to keep all the time. I need to simply love whoever is willing to stay. People are so good at disappearing. I’m tired.

i am not cut out for life. i’m too idealistic and i’m too soft. you just can’t go around falling in love with flowers everywhere you go; it hurts too much and gets you nowhere i hurt too much and get myself nowhere. i’m not five now. but i don’t want to be expensive or hard, i just want that pessoa kind of truth and freedom and misunderstanding. i have known truer things since fifteen, just listen. i am selfish and loveless, and we'd feel so goddamn good together. what a flammable heart i've been given.

I don’t understand why I feel this deeply. I love it, but it hurts. And it makes me feel fucking crazy because everything makes me laugh and cry and just feel all of the time.

naked thoughts

scribble scratch, i see your face, i am trying. and you know, maybe it’s the consistent heaviness of two a.m. that’s always humming in my head, always romanticizing everything from the grass to the fucking drywall…but i’m okay with that. i might be. i don’t know why i feel so goddamn much in all directions. this air punctures me. small moments, you know? i am stressing all of my syllables, always strung out on play-pretend, human euphoria…i love you, stranger. and i don’t know. i don’t know a lot of things, why i buzz this way

last night, you kissed my nose and called me cute. but second guessing myself is tiring. sometimes I don’t know what I’m doing or what I want. I don’t want to want anything. I’m not going to let people make me feel bad about anything anymore. I don’t care. it can be that simple and that’s one thing I truly want. I want genuine happiness and I’m feeling it in little increments but fuck I want to feel it all at once. I want to be a whole lot better than my worst. I want to work on myself mentally and allow myself to grow.

Stopped mid-sentence to lean in and kiss me amidst the bookshelves, fawning over the mutual love we shared for the beatles- sitting cross legged lightly brushing your fingertips against my hands.. I could feel the nervousness sitting in the pit of my stomach. i just don’t know.