i just woke up, my bedhead is at its worst.
my doggie is getting healthier and the antibiotics seem to be working alright. weird how i can become so attached to something, like a kid. i know he's old and probably won't be around much longer, but i know it'll kill me. even when you don't want to be a part of something, you are.
i'm getting sick too but i blame my phobia of the hospital for always being sick. i don't know why i'm so afraid and why every time i go i have to receive shots because i freak out. i'm not afraid of needles, that's for sure, so i don't understand what it could be. at first, i thought it was the fact that all of the attention is put on me but i think that's a little too vague. i think it's that every time someone goes to the doctors, they search for flaws. it's not the attention that suffocates me, it's the negative attention. it's my self esteem that despises hospitals. i wish i could overcome this and it seems silly, but it's nothing i have the ability to control at the moment.
today is three years since the death of my great grandma. it's difficult to sit back and watch my family, especially my grandma, cry about it. she is one of the strongest people i know but i know it's rough for her, it would be rough for anyone. it has made me reflect onto my relationship with my mother, whom i haven't seen in about a week. i don't necessarily want to be away but i know i can't stay around her. there are some features you just can't change and it's too late to try to change them, that's what everyone tells me. i know it isn't but when you are dealt the cards of a lost cause all you can do is accept and make the best of them.
i want to be a support system when i know i just need to let go of some things. my heart is a giant.. i wish that wasn't a flaw in this world.
writing helps clear my head of things. i keep trying to write this 'book' but i can't seem to get past the first chapter. i don't even want it to be a protracted story, just sort of short, yet thought provoking. oddly enough, my inspiration came from the novel Frankenstein. maybe you can get an idea.. here are a few paragraphs from it
These black strips of asphalt are dead ends. A sunset dips beneath sheets of a bold horizon each evening facing the ample eyes of the hopeful, naïve, and corrupted. Hungered, vacant bodies obstinately masticate apprehension, sightless to a progressing ruin of the loam beneath their tiny feet. Time is merely present for the passing, in attendance for the consumption of the future into an imperceptible void, befalling an assemblage of captive reminiscences as a momentary crown to be positioned on a substantial craving. Panic is as common as oxygen, paranoia as stable as blood flow, swimming through streams of their temperate vitality. Faith is gradually becoming a crucial fact, corrupting sacred strings of ancestry. Every incidence mustn’t lack witness, every particle must encompass a reason or the being is deficient. Society is an unsullied carcass and they are the wolves pleasing centuries of time to approach this strict moment, relishing every final savor of death in the cavities of their putrid teeth and buds of their swollen tongues, still gnawing on the deteriorating skeleton. It’s a perfect subjection to gluttony.
I am the seed of a monster. I evoke the toxic cursing coils of fists, blood, veins, teeth, nails, feet, and tongues; craving to paw oily prints against defenseless sheets; my only armor. A girl who screamed was a girl to execute and, for this, my knowledge had been granted reluctantly early; forced to a father whose hands were born as thieves, assembling violently the inheritance of virtuous innocence. What can be broken will be broken, exclusive of the nuisance of fractures. Accumulating my petite elements of mentality off of my youthful floorboards is the imaginary purpose of the soul in the passenger seat beside me.
i am aware that it needs a lot of work, so far. it's difficult to write because though it isn't about me, or doesn't involve many occurrences that have happened in my own life, i want some of my own raw emotions to be interpreted into it. it brings me back to my childhood a lot, being at the hands of an abusive, alcoholic man. i don't want to get too deep into it, today is painful enough as it is. i know that i have grown from these experiences, even the most atrocious. now i feel the need to express myself in a gift i have been given.. whether there is a god or not. i don't think or talk about religion much, to anyone. i suppose it's a personal matter.
i have mellowed out, i am calm. now i need to work on being tranquil with others who feel the need to tamper with my temperature. i haven't a working compass, forgive me. feel the dirt beneath your feet suit you, your roots are growing thicker as are mine. nothing or no one can take the keep of home away from who you are and it will be what fate molds you to become. i am afraid for the weak.
here i have heard too many things, said too much, hoped too far. give me something to really love for..
i wake in the bed of a simple realism. i endure the demons, i understand them. there is room for the flavor of someone else in everyone's mouth but there are too many weak stomachs to uphold this.
my apartment is silent and i am unaccompanied. for once i don't feel the need to finally scream in the slightest chance that someone will hear me
xo freebird.
my doggie is getting healthier and the antibiotics seem to be working alright. weird how i can become so attached to something, like a kid. i know he's old and probably won't be around much longer, but i know it'll kill me. even when you don't want to be a part of something, you are.
i'm getting sick too but i blame my phobia of the hospital for always being sick. i don't know why i'm so afraid and why every time i go i have to receive shots because i freak out. i'm not afraid of needles, that's for sure, so i don't understand what it could be. at first, i thought it was the fact that all of the attention is put on me but i think that's a little too vague. i think it's that every time someone goes to the doctors, they search for flaws. it's not the attention that suffocates me, it's the negative attention. it's my self esteem that despises hospitals. i wish i could overcome this and it seems silly, but it's nothing i have the ability to control at the moment.
today is three years since the death of my great grandma. it's difficult to sit back and watch my family, especially my grandma, cry about it. she is one of the strongest people i know but i know it's rough for her, it would be rough for anyone. it has made me reflect onto my relationship with my mother, whom i haven't seen in about a week. i don't necessarily want to be away but i know i can't stay around her. there are some features you just can't change and it's too late to try to change them, that's what everyone tells me. i know it isn't but when you are dealt the cards of a lost cause all you can do is accept and make the best of them.
i want to be a support system when i know i just need to let go of some things. my heart is a giant.. i wish that wasn't a flaw in this world.
writing helps clear my head of things. i keep trying to write this 'book' but i can't seem to get past the first chapter. i don't even want it to be a protracted story, just sort of short, yet thought provoking. oddly enough, my inspiration came from the novel Frankenstein. maybe you can get an idea.. here are a few paragraphs from it
These black strips of asphalt are dead ends. A sunset dips beneath sheets of a bold horizon each evening facing the ample eyes of the hopeful, naïve, and corrupted. Hungered, vacant bodies obstinately masticate apprehension, sightless to a progressing ruin of the loam beneath their tiny feet. Time is merely present for the passing, in attendance for the consumption of the future into an imperceptible void, befalling an assemblage of captive reminiscences as a momentary crown to be positioned on a substantial craving. Panic is as common as oxygen, paranoia as stable as blood flow, swimming through streams of their temperate vitality. Faith is gradually becoming a crucial fact, corrupting sacred strings of ancestry. Every incidence mustn’t lack witness, every particle must encompass a reason or the being is deficient. Society is an unsullied carcass and they are the wolves pleasing centuries of time to approach this strict moment, relishing every final savor of death in the cavities of their putrid teeth and buds of their swollen tongues, still gnawing on the deteriorating skeleton. It’s a perfect subjection to gluttony.
I am the seed of a monster. I evoke the toxic cursing coils of fists, blood, veins, teeth, nails, feet, and tongues; craving to paw oily prints against defenseless sheets; my only armor. A girl who screamed was a girl to execute and, for this, my knowledge had been granted reluctantly early; forced to a father whose hands were born as thieves, assembling violently the inheritance of virtuous innocence. What can be broken will be broken, exclusive of the nuisance of fractures. Accumulating my petite elements of mentality off of my youthful floorboards is the imaginary purpose of the soul in the passenger seat beside me.
i am aware that it needs a lot of work, so far. it's difficult to write because though it isn't about me, or doesn't involve many occurrences that have happened in my own life, i want some of my own raw emotions to be interpreted into it. it brings me back to my childhood a lot, being at the hands of an abusive, alcoholic man. i don't want to get too deep into it, today is painful enough as it is. i know that i have grown from these experiences, even the most atrocious. now i feel the need to express myself in a gift i have been given.. whether there is a god or not. i don't think or talk about religion much, to anyone. i suppose it's a personal matter.
i have mellowed out, i am calm. now i need to work on being tranquil with others who feel the need to tamper with my temperature. i haven't a working compass, forgive me. feel the dirt beneath your feet suit you, your roots are growing thicker as are mine. nothing or no one can take the keep of home away from who you are and it will be what fate molds you to become. i am afraid for the weak.
here i have heard too many things, said too much, hoped too far. give me something to really love for..
i wake in the bed of a simple realism. i endure the demons, i understand them. there is room for the flavor of someone else in everyone's mouth but there are too many weak stomachs to uphold this.
my apartment is silent and i am unaccompanied. for once i don't feel the need to finally scream in the slightest chance that someone will hear me
xo freebird.
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