This isn’t what I wanted to be.

I’m tired of trying to be pretty. I’m tired of trying to impress. There is no point in trying to be someone… it gets you nowhere. Need to learn to want to be me, not be someone I want to be.

Have to work a job where I’m so exhausted when I get home I actually sleep. Be a mother. Do the 9-5. Here we go. Time to do what I have to do. Take out the trash. Out with the old, in with the new… or lack of anything is better than the unhealthy old.

Meh.

With death waving in my face (R.I.P. Grandma), questions rise out of the woodwork.

Going back to telemarketing tomorrow until I can find a real job. Heh. Fuck.

Where are you?

Photographer– Brandon Sanford

When you open up the pages you’ll see me in the faces
Listed in the bitches of the O
Just another lady, or so you could say,
taking up space on another deviant road
Screaming for attention with a silenced mouth
Loud, sirening eyes and used knees
Taken out by a fella with a secret agenda
Just let him do as he pleases
This body is not my own, it’s public property
Been around the block once or twice
[a hundred times]
Warping and changing and getting a little cold
Time to take the trash out, it’s getting kind of old

anything to do with lowlifes like us?

Like me?

I thought you respected me so much more.

Slide right up to slide right in
Your world grabs mine in
Gravitational pull I’ve never felt
I’ve finally obtained the mass
Hypothesizing weightlessness has never been
Relaxing, frightening, exhilarating
An obsession
With a smile to fuel me, I race
Your love, appreciation, desire
Where is this finish line?

Drowning in a sea of proofs
Watching blurry faces consume existence
A smile breaks the clouds
Flying towards the light, questions consume
The past slips under
Futures spill out, raising hands to be chosen
The two hands that I watch
Move in the same direction, as always
Riddles left to be solved
With eyes closed, I continue on
Breathing may be easier underneath