At home being alone.

I feel at home being by myself right now. I feel completely satisfied knowing that I'm going to be worried about something tomorrow, when I'm by myself - maybe with other people. But at least I'll be fine with being by myself. It bugs me when I see people that can't be by themselves. That can't be by themselves without getting down about something, without doing something destructive, without spending the time in their lives in a forcedly adverse way. Nah, not really. It bugs me when I see people that can't be by themselves without making issues for themselves. Without creating a scenario for them to wallow in. Those people that fumble around stunted obstacles. Don't let those obstacles get real for you. They might get so real that they become embedded into your character. They could affect your relationships. Be careful, because relationships are what make life worth living.

I feel just fine. I feel pretty, mighty fine.

Time, And Life, And Their Importances.

Time, And Life, And Their Importances.

I want to write sexual poetry at 5:30 in the morning.

I want to bull rush the motor cars in the near vicinity.

I want to slap the unkind in the faces, and wake up the kind.

I want to read through endless words that may or may not be meaningful.

I want to add colors to all four of my walls.

I want to make permanence about the temporary facets connected to me.

I want to label every piece of matter with a beautiful word.

I want to smash the clocks in my mother's house and hug people tight.

I want to develop every mediocrity that's ever been announced to me.

I want to scream until I can't breathe above the water.

I want to paint a coat of glaze over every orifice of perverts' bodies.

I want to erase all sense of worry that I've ever felt creeping into the nooks of my mind and my concepts of life.

JOT.

If I just listened more carefully,

I'd learn the rhythms of her heels

As she rolls her shoulders back

And sneers all the way,

Down the lobby.

If I reached a little farther,

I would find more of the beads

That she left in her purse

The beads from her

Old friends.

I have the worst habits,

And she has them,

But we're not the same - no, we're not even close and her beads are much bigger than mine.

Mine are easier to lose,

To forget.