Try it.

There is this feeling, I don’t really know how it would be described. It’s that lump in the back of your throat that just hurts. Like, you aren’t quite sure why you feel like you might cry, but all of the sudden. There is the lump.

Sometimes, I look around, at my family, my friends, my choices, and I get the lump. I think that addressing the lump is about addressing how I got here. Ever look around and think, how did I get here?

We make choices, good or bad or indifferent and we must stand by the choices we make. OR we can pretend they don’t exist, but they do and always will. We can make additions to our choices, or we can try to alter what we have done but the point is, we have already made the choices.

The lump I believe, is the choices. We can’t get rid of the choices, ergo, the lump stays. I have made many choices I don’t agree with, but I wouldn’t want to get rid of them. Can you make a list of your choices, a full list, and stare at it and get past the lump?

Go. Ahead. And. Try.


Sometimes, Sometimes, Sometimes,

I am drowning, drowning, drowning,

I fall, deeper, deeper, deeper.

I suffocate. I cannot breathe. I am trapped.

Trapped, Trapped, Trapped.

So how, do I get free?

I. Free. Myself.


Time to Detox

I’ll be giving up my phone as a bit of a social expirement/cleansing. I will be using a simple phone to communicate and work very hard on in person conversation. It’s time to become part of the world, the living breathing world. I speak so much about living life, but a good portion of it, is through my phone screen. It’s time to go out and be one with the universe in a psychical and mental sense. While it may be an adjustment, it will be a relief. Gone will be the days of waking up to the latest gossip, drama or insight. Truth is, I don’t care. I love my friends, my family, but their life isn’t mine. Time to go live in the present. 


Tonight I told the truth. The whole truth and it was terrifying. I feel like a new person, a new and imperfectly perfect person. I said all the ugly nasty things floating around my head and it’s wonderful. I feel great. I am happy and content. No, everything is not perfect and nothing will ever go back to what it was, but that’s okay. The world won’t end and neither will I. It’s time to start my next chapter. No more talking about it, more doing it. The tree will keep blossoming, the wind will keep blowing and I will keep living. The world is mine and now I’ll seize it. In the honest way. 

You said you wanted access. 

You say you want access to the thoughts running through my pretty little head. 

What happens when you can’t stomach them?

When they fill you with shame, hatred, lust?

Where did your faith in pretty girls go?

Peek on in, do you like what you see?

I’m a whore, a liar, a cheat

I’m a con artist, a chameleon 

I am not real. 

Tell me, are you still there?

Shall I continue?

How many men have I trapped, seduced, set aside?

How many nights did we sip scotch while your wife was away?

I fucked you, and I ate your soul. I am your desire. 

So see? You told me you wanted access to my pretty little thoughts, in my pretty little head. 

How fucking pretty am I now?

Level Me.

My dark little girl

your slate eyes level me.

Those cruel thoughts that swim about.

I drown in your loathing.

I swim in your desire.

We are the unmentionable.

The wicked laugh, the harsh tongue.

Far too removed to love-Far too close to hate.

For we are what they think of.

The ones who prey in the black of night.

So silence all

Cry a noiseless cry.

Level me with your gaze.

Who Owns My Self Worth?

Charles Bukowski once said, “Real loneliness is not necessarily limited to when you are alone.” Damn, if that is not the most honest thing I have ever heard then what is? Self worth by definition, is the value of oneself. How much are we worth? How much are YOU worth? And who, is willing to pay that price. How many times have I found myself in a bed, car, pool…?  Far too close to another and far too distant from myself. The ultimate high is acknowledging your own beauty, not a stranger speaking from adrenaline. The beauty of the individual is the fact that we can clean the slate. Not one other soul can dictate how we move on from this moment. This moment RIGHT HERE. When we walk away from our thoughts, our dark lonely thoughts, which direction do we take? Who the FUCK honestly knows? All I know is, for each stranger who praises me, I no longer want to praise myself. Remember this baby, self praise is what counts. The only person we live with till we die, is the precious fiend staring back in the mirror. So love, don’t love, fuck or don’t fuck. But whatever actions that are taken; the actions are YOURS.

Listen to the Weight of the Worth

The Biggest Lie of All.

I heard once, that it is easier to write an honest response than to say one aloud. I agree with this statement. I can write about all my future plans till my fingers bleed, but I will sit at the table and lie my agreement till I am blue in the face. I have really been using this writing platform to come clean about my lies and indiscretions but now I need to get my ass in motion and figure out what the fuck I am doing. Here are some truths:

I still smoke cigarettes

I am doing mediocre in school

I am filling out applications to schools I will never go to

I am ready to drop out of college and live under a rock

I might run away with a friend

My mom thinks I am a good daughter

Also, for as smart as I may be, I have a 48.5 in math…

I honestly have absolutely no idea what I am doing at the moment. It is exhilarating and absolutely terrifying.

If someone out there wants to adopt a moody wannabe writer- I am ready to make some moves.


Time for Something New

I don’t think blogs are necessarily written to gain anything besides the gratification of writing, BUT. The but had to come and here it is: I AM RESTLESS. Twenty years old, one semester away from my AA in Liberal Arts and still living at home. I am ready to make a change but I do not know how! This is my cry for help: HELP.

I am open to ideas, suggestions, housing? No probably not the last one. If there is anyone out there who understands this babble, make yourself known!



I skate for you. 

Do you think about me?

Do you watch me trace your old rollerblade routes, like a lifeline?

I skate your routes in hopes you will appear. I feel you here, in the wicked whip of the palm trees, in the angry crash of the waves. I smell you in the sea soaked air. 

How do I hold onto a ghost? 

I wish I could hold your hand again, but I’ll settle for the coarse grains of sand creating indents in my palm. 

Like messages from above.