Why The Fuck
I want to do something. Ya know? Something like in those books that I can’t stop reading. I want to have a conversation with someone that makes no sense but at the same time changes the way I feel about everything. I want to say something real, and―and―I want to stop second guessing myself. I want to endure something that ends and learn from how I feel about it. I want to say fuck more. And go skinny dipping, and make out in the closet of a random person’s house during a huge kegger, and then buy some weed and get high, just so I can surprise someone by saying I have, and even if they don’t believe me, I’ll know it’s the truth―and I can smile one of those knowing smiles that i've always wanted to smile. I want to talk about something entirely arbitrary, like Alexander Hamilton or why our parents suck, not about love, or Twilight, or coloured contacts. I want to feel witty and beautiful and free, but I want it to make me grounded and knowledgeable in my reactions, in my existence, and most importantly, in why the fuck I’m supposed to be here in the first place.
YOU ARE READING
Words, Words, Words
PoetryThe title pretty much covers the basics of what this is. It's words (x3). My words, specifically. There are poems, short stories, little random paragraphs, slam poems, a whole shitload of things. So read if you want to (or don't).
