…it only hurts when i breathe.

sometimes i have things to write. things i’m passionate about. things that are on my mind. things that make me angry. things that rhyme… today there is so much on my mind. i’d love to write. i’d love to know what to say. but i’m at a loss. i have no effing clue. i guess we’ll go down the list.

apparently i’m out of work for another week. huge problem that i dont feel like discussing.

i have finals coming up. i was getting A’s in all my classes. now i am getting B’s. not too happy. this means my finals need to be great. like not C’s and D’s, the grades i most recently pulled on every one of my last tests. i even got two B+’s on papers in english. hello? that is not okay for me. i’m kind of being a spoiled kid right now. but i just really wanted to do well. exceptionally well. so well that maybe i could be proud of my mind again. i failed. because i let myself get sad.

i’m depressed. severely, utterly, devastantly depressed. i don’t know if that word was a word. but i like it, so it’s staying. i’m constantly in a state of sadness. my state of mind is more like the state of nevada. it doesn’t know if it wants to be desolate, dry and scorching, or if it wants to be awake, coniving, and resourceful, or if it wants to be trashy, insignificant, and a lesser being then it’s normal, better counterpart. my brain is arguing whether or not prostitution should be legal, since, come on, there are worse things in the world.

my hands are cold. so cold. they need to be held. really badly. held. come on. hold my hand. do it. whatever. it’s too late now. i found a fireplace. serves more purposes then you could ever. you’re like my knight in shining armour that leaves when things get rough. “oh damn, you’re weighing down my white horse, i’m gonna have to let you off- or you could workout.” you’re like never there when i’m sad. and that’s only like so completely annoying. i can’t accept that anymore. but i do. cause the whole problem is in my mind. i am completely psychotic. or that’s what you tell yourself.

if i were a man, my method of communication would be my sex drive. instead of this horrid emotional communication that i use. men think everything can be solved with sex, because frankly, if they were sad, they would love a blow job. if i’m sad i want starbucks. and then i want things bought for me. and then i want you to listen to every stupid and irrelevant thing i have to say. and then i want you to give me hug. and then, and only when i’m ready, you can tell me i’m pretty. i’d like that.

i had grape juice and apparently, my mom just informed me, i spilled it on the counter. i need to move out of this joint. i really really really really really need something to be proud of right now.

anything.

my mom just bought me starbucks and gave me a hug. the worst is over.

you can tell me i’m pretty now.