stumble on, stumble on.

i like songs with slow beats and sad tones. i like music that comforts me. i find solace in writing and confessing my thoughts. who is listening? to whom am i writing? please send something back my way, so i know you're there.

life tends to throw curves, and i'm good at noting them. i like writing and i like being a blanket for people to lay on. i want what everyone wants: to be loved, to be adored, to be envied, to be human. where is the human in mankind? i don't see it anymore, as if i ever did.

where is this pretentiousness coming from? myself. my inner soul.
i look back on my previous writing and envy myself.

i think i might be a lesbian. maybe that's why i can't be happy with one man (haha, boy, really). maybe that is why i can't commit to one. or maybe this is a scape goat, being gay, haha. what would i do? how would i tell my parents that? and would my grandparents disown me? my cousins would laugh at me. my family has no depth. my sister has none, and she likes to talk. she likes to mock.

glad no one reads this. it's like a safe haven. i want to kiss emily. and i wish she were here. she's beautiful. i had a great time at waffle house, and i felt like we were making love the whole time. the way she smiles at me, and her beautiful features. her eyes, they're looking at me naked with my clothes on. i can't quite describe what i feel. i can't quite understand how in a less than sanitary waffle house booth, i can feel as if the very core of me was just taken out, purified, and put into a safe place. somewhere much safer than my inner self. i'll let her hold onto it, because she's the girl for me. where does this all go? and is she on my page? i wish we had a book. i wish, i wish that i could write a book, or that someone would write one about me. i'd like to see their perspective. i love drunk writing. thank god for spell check, ya dig?

i like soft skin. and i like nose rings. sometimes i wonder if i could go forever without sex, ever again? cameron is so yesterday. everyone is yesterday for me. i keep going back to the same beings looking for different happenings. give up on it, lady. people aren't enough for me. i need a martian. a space martian. to blow my mind.

haha. cameron and i had a funny break up. i think i pulled him in again just to fuck him off, and say buhbye. how stupid is that? then, of course, i pull him back, once again, only to get "rejected" which isn't very harsh because i know it's a facade. i'm like everyone else, and you're like no one at all to me. please crawl back into your hole.

oh diary, i'm so glad i can be so honest with you. anyone other than you would think i'm awful. i mean, i know a few people look at this, but no one that would be upset with me. people. don't. get. it. ever. they just don't. am i too much person or not enough? which is it? the way i see it, i'm nothing unusual. but i may have some genetic dysfunctions. some things are hereditary, i believe, and i pity those with shitty genepools. like, fuck you mom & dad. that's horrible. which is why i'm going to adopt kids. so they won't inherit my lack of commitment, shit responsibility, and hatred for monogamy. it's fun & dangerous to me, how this is public to the whole god damn universe but it's all mine. and i have no repercussions.

i feel like a weight is literally being lifted up off my shoulders as i breathe in and out. breathe in and out. keep trying.

people are unusual, wonderful, and disgusting. i just haven't figured out in which of those categories i belong yet.



suck my fucking dick, world.