i spend my life looking for motivation
pumping substances into myself that increase it by decreasing it,
giving me something to look forward to.
next weekend will be killer.
next month will rock.
show after show, night after night,
boy after boy,
making me realize how young i am by pretending i'm grown up.
and dying faster and faster.
with no one left to lean on,
the safety net of college receding quicker by the second,
i am scared
empty
hopeless.
my dreams can't seem to come true like they once had,
they're just dreams, illusions, like my friends,
my talent,
my life.
alone,
so alone.
i live in the craziest city in the world,
surrounded by millions of people.
i appreciate manmade nature
walking through the park with suspicious companions...
why can't everything be simple as the ducks in the mud?
i can't live in the park and get paid for looking at squirrels,
observing the coldness with which human beings can regard one another,
crunching through the leaves in the oasis within the concrete,
glaring at the ground.
i read about suffering,
about enlightenment that we all can achieve by seeing the suffering that consumes all living things.
the peace that lies between thoughts,
trying desperately to appreciate the inescapeable irony of living that should be smiled at.
the things i see in a day:
a group of policemen jaywalking...
an american flag pin stuck in the sole of my shoe...
theatre ticket prices soaring daily so that only the rich may buy the poor mans art...
fighting fire with fire, teaching our children vengeance and violence instead of peace, forgiveness, and love.
ah love.
i wasn't going to go there tonight, but since i brought it up...
*insert a tired sigh here*
the results of my previous experiences have allowed me to subconsciously form a huge hilarious wall around my heart.
be funny, jess, and nothing can hurt you.
my cynicism is fear,
fear that things might change,
that i might believe in someone again.
because i sure don't believe in myself.
who the fuck am i fooling?
no one anymore. i have no one left to indulge in but me,
and i'm definitely unworthy of indulgence.
i have to worry about supporting myself,
how to make myself happy without a caretaker.
i don't want to grow up.
i want to play.
i want to be happy and achieve the unachieveable.
i suppose if i wanted something achieveable that once i got it i would stop living.
that's something to think about.
------------------
"curiouser and curiouser..." -alice
pumping substances into myself that increase it by decreasing it,
giving me something to look forward to.
next weekend will be killer.
next month will rock.
show after show, night after night,
boy after boy,
making me realize how young i am by pretending i'm grown up.
and dying faster and faster.
with no one left to lean on,
the safety net of college receding quicker by the second,
i am scared
empty
hopeless.
my dreams can't seem to come true like they once had,
they're just dreams, illusions, like my friends,
my talent,
my life.
alone,
so alone.
i live in the craziest city in the world,
surrounded by millions of people.
i appreciate manmade nature
walking through the park with suspicious companions...
why can't everything be simple as the ducks in the mud?
i can't live in the park and get paid for looking at squirrels,
observing the coldness with which human beings can regard one another,
crunching through the leaves in the oasis within the concrete,
glaring at the ground.
i read about suffering,
about enlightenment that we all can achieve by seeing the suffering that consumes all living things.
the peace that lies between thoughts,
trying desperately to appreciate the inescapeable irony of living that should be smiled at.
the things i see in a day:
a group of policemen jaywalking...
an american flag pin stuck in the sole of my shoe...
theatre ticket prices soaring daily so that only the rich may buy the poor mans art...
fighting fire with fire, teaching our children vengeance and violence instead of peace, forgiveness, and love.
ah love.
i wasn't going to go there tonight, but since i brought it up...
*insert a tired sigh here*
the results of my previous experiences have allowed me to subconsciously form a huge hilarious wall around my heart.
be funny, jess, and nothing can hurt you.
my cynicism is fear,
fear that things might change,
that i might believe in someone again.
because i sure don't believe in myself.
who the fuck am i fooling?
no one anymore. i have no one left to indulge in but me,
and i'm definitely unworthy of indulgence.
i have to worry about supporting myself,
how to make myself happy without a caretaker.
i don't want to grow up.
i want to play.
i want to be happy and achieve the unachieveable.
i suppose if i wanted something achieveable that once i got it i would stop living.
that's something to think about.
------------------
"curiouser and curiouser..." -alice
