I feel trapped
between not knowing what to write, not wanting to write, and not knowing
what people want to read.
A lot of what I say feels like sugar-coated bullshit.
I just spew out words I think you all want to hear
without thinking about whether it’s what I want to say.
I don’t know when I lost myself.
It’s hard to pinpoint a time or person or place
that left me yearning so desperately for everyone’s approval.
I’m so tired of not knowing who I am
or what I want to be.
I don’t know that I’ll ever make a choice.
I don’t think it matters.
I want to believe that life on this Earth is about more than just
I’m not sure that it is.
Because we figure out what we want to do, and where we want to work,
to make money.
We end up working the rest of our lives
in dead-end jobs
that don’t fulfill us.
I deserve better than that.
Well, maybe not everyone.
I’m such a hypocrite.
I speak in generalities
because it’s easier than trying to view individuals as the person they actually are.
Who am I to decide
who commits wrong
and what qualifies as right?
I struggle to balance
my empathy and compassion for the world
with my absolute disgust with the people in it.
I don’t know if we can fix this place.
We definitely can’t with a society of people
who hate to understand that which they do not know.
Who came up with the modern academic system,
And why the fuck do we still force kids to listen without teaching them to learn?
I want to do more.
I want to elicit change.
I want to change the world.
I can’t handle the burden.
Because people are so cruel
for no reason and any reason at all.
it’s me too.
I hate Californians,
they’re too fuckin’ nice.
Don’t even look at me
with that tiny dog hanging out of your purse.
(But tell your dog I love him and I think he deserves the world.)
I just want to be joyful.
I want to create art
that doesn’t stem from pain.
I feel like I’m never completely honest.
I’m ready to be.