psh, psh, psh
let me clarify, for a while there i was
life was, life and all topsy turvey crazy pants-ed. i’m not saying it’s not anymore, just that it’s not gonna hurt me. oh, well, maybe it will. it’s okay. read the emo poetry, love the emo poetry, but don’t read more into than just the words themselves. i’ve always loved words, you know that right? i like the way they lie, nothing hidden, i mean unless you count meanings that don’t mean anything. i wish my belt would stop slipping around my waist. and i’ll figure out how to roll my window up or get it fixed and my new retainer fits better than my old, and i make mistakes like they’re going out of style, and you know what? i’m no longer terrified. not of life or what if or maybe or well… anything except God, but since God sent Jesus and Jesus gave a commandment of love and there is no fear in love, well, then, I’m listening to Christmas music, and waiting to see what happens next and praying that God protects me or equips me and (oh crap, don’t let this backfire) I’m happy. the tragic tumultuous days of old brought me great joy and i see answered prayers and i know none of us are ever really in the clear until we die maybe, but… I mean, honestly, I mean really, I just like WRITING emo poetry. and i fake the emotions mostly, but that’s okay right? i mean, it’s okay if i lie, because i’m not really lying, the words are, and I never said I felt that way, and i don’t want to misrepresent myself because i had a broken heart but it made me LAUGH. i mean, being hurt means i can love and i shouldn’t tell you that i smoke but i’m quitting soon anyway. that’s it really. emo poetry. laughing. tears. tears. tears. and survivalllllllllll. i’m pretty good at that last part and i move to stl in 7 weeks and i read my Bible and don’t clean my apartment unless people are coming over. whew. honesty.