sweaters why?
the way i look is really upsetting. why can't i just be that picture or that poster? blah blah the media is influencing me, ya...and so are real people. ive always wanted to be that way or such and such. i dunno, do you? I want to be me last year. the ease of watching the scale revolve to the other side of 90 is nauseating. i was probably already sick before.
the only parts of my body that i can stand are my ribs and my hip bones. the numbers are my eyes though and are everything i think about. those two digits that i cant let go. molly took those pictures of me, and i keep looking through them and wanting to look like someone ill never be. people are beginning to diet better than i do, and what am i? mediocre. i suppose. i want a polaroid picture of myself (my vain sincerity) that i can look at without even knowing it's me. i want to take myself from some omnious position in the stars and repaint everything.
i see everyone as beautiful in some way. even if you are the ugliest dog in the vicinity, i might mention something unsatisfactory, but just look at me.
what if i was still in pocahontas and i was clean and beautiful, but lonely at the same time...unfortunately, half way alone in a sense. That doesn't matter anymore though. That part of my life is coming back, probably just to haunt me, for no reason really. I think its so queer that we can wave back and forth without deep sighs and binges of lament every now and then. Hindsight is a painting, a painting with violent colors that could keep me awake for days. Aw, I remember his laugh and seeing him across the lunch room. I have written on my wall my exact thoughts that day. It's like they were from yesterday and every other day in between was a great party.
Last night, I went to Molly's. I like going there, except her parents try to take control of her. But its Molly, fuck what they say. I miss being there. I think I fell asleep on her shoulder after she made my rasberry hot chocolate dinner.
This whole week, I dont have practice. What am I going to do with myself? I bet something weird is going to happen. Let's pray for peace.
the only parts of my body that i can stand are my ribs and my hip bones. the numbers are my eyes though and are everything i think about. those two digits that i cant let go. molly took those pictures of me, and i keep looking through them and wanting to look like someone ill never be. people are beginning to diet better than i do, and what am i? mediocre. i suppose. i want a polaroid picture of myself (my vain sincerity) that i can look at without even knowing it's me. i want to take myself from some omnious position in the stars and repaint everything.
i see everyone as beautiful in some way. even if you are the ugliest dog in the vicinity, i might mention something unsatisfactory, but just look at me.
what if i was still in pocahontas and i was clean and beautiful, but lonely at the same time...unfortunately, half way alone in a sense. That doesn't matter anymore though. That part of my life is coming back, probably just to haunt me, for no reason really. I think its so queer that we can wave back and forth without deep sighs and binges of lament every now and then. Hindsight is a painting, a painting with violent colors that could keep me awake for days. Aw, I remember his laugh and seeing him across the lunch room. I have written on my wall my exact thoughts that day. It's like they were from yesterday and every other day in between was a great party.
Last night, I went to Molly's. I like going there, except her parents try to take control of her. But its Molly, fuck what they say. I miss being there. I think I fell asleep on her shoulder after she made my rasberry hot chocolate dinner.
This whole week, I dont have practice. What am I going to do with myself? I bet something weird is going to happen. Let's pray for peace.