Maybe it will make sense it says
but what makes sense
my silence and the need to not say anything
my talking too much and saying everything
I am pretty...
I fucking hate being pretty
I hate the word sometimes
gosh you're so pretty
like that is all the world has for me
I know it's not all the world holds for me
there is more and others see it too
I hate staying up all night writing
in honor of the great poets and writers
the ones before me...the one who will see my death
bare witness
I do not believe in anything...which is to say I believe in it all
So many fanatics
I am a fanatic...I am at the mouth of madness
but I used to call it creativity
what is creative about insanity
I am not insane yet I do not feel right
I feel good one moment bad the next
always in the middle and always forgetting to remember
then always remembering to never forget
like a girl on a tightrope but now i am a woman
i do not have to do anything anyone tells me
this is my choice
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