vi.once i woke up & thought my entire right arm was gone, because i couldn't feel it. it wasn't really gone--just numb from me laying on it funny. maybe that's how i've always looked at things...if i can't feel it, maybe it doesn't really exist.
v.i wrote about my soul yesterday, & it came out dark & dry-boned & skin-sliced & i hated it. i just wanted to rip it out & start over because sometimes starting over & reinventing yourself seems a lot easier than trying to cover it up & tone it down for those that are far less colorful than you.
vi.this is the image i have in my head--a girl, not too tall, not too smart, not too pretty standing amidst a large crowd of faces. she is me & i am her and we are an unfinished portrait.the paint left dripping & the important spaces empty of color. some places are scratched out, as if the artist decided that those parts were wrong.the colors go from the extreme of so dull & faint that they are hardly noticeable to so harsh & vibrant that they're too garish to look at. but there are still evident splotches of emptiness.i'll fill in those empty spaces someday, but for now i am happy to just be that girl, the one whose eyes are looking right at you & seeing into your soul.
iii.this is how i write, like i can't think of anything else to say, like i can't remember my own name.
ii.i am my own worst enemy, but i am the only one who can save myself.
i.i'm in love with conversations. talking to people one on one, especially when i'm so tired that my eyes start drooping, but my heart begins opening in ways i could never expect from myself. in those moments, everything i say comes out beautiful & honest & none of it matters because the other person just listens. listens & accepts what i say as truth & always understands & relates.