not knowing what i want,
being asked questions like
defining love and what's my
dream job and curling up in the
cold and pretty basement,
my artsy friends so happy
here but me i'm screaming
silently waking up every
day and confused and my
stomach in knots, not knowing
what i want and trying to plan,
trying to save, throwing away
the plan for a grown up job
and casting myself as the
perpetual bartender, agent seeker,
audition goer, line memorizer,
meisner lover, pavement hitter.
still not feeling whole. feeling
empty and angry, angsty and
feisty. and wanting to be cool,
i want so bad to be cool, like the
cool kids who are singers,
band drinkers, with cool pants
and shirts and cool shoes and
hats and long hair and tatts.
lush's, addicts, strung out but
cool. they're cool. they don't
care, they're feelings never
get hurt, they only remember
because the photos on facebook.
over exposed bright flash, they're
pale skin and dark rimmed glasses.
i hate them and want to be them.
not caring. non chalant. crazy.
and i am going crazy. crazy.
living where nothing ever happens
and no one ever sees you,
everything tastes bland, the grass,
the sand and my screaming.
my stomach in knots, not knowing
what i want, confused, light
headed, being asked questions
and questions, questions.
los angeles, my question.