do you ever just wanna scrap everything and restart again? i don’t mean just an essay, or a project. i mean, your life.
you just want to begin anew, scratch all the mistakes you’ve made and all the awkwardness you’ve built. you just want to begin again.
sing, be on the hot wings; dance, cry till your heart sings. just hoard your voice out and yell until you can’t - just, keep rolling in the winds until you’re drowned in your own voice because you can’t stand the clamor of the world anymore.
you can’t stand that wide-eyed girl in the mirror that smiles crookedly, tears in her eyes. you can’t stand all the perfect people out there leading perfect lives. you can’t stand all this bull shit in the world because you’re so done.
you just want to jump off a cliff. you’re young for hell’s sake - you just want to do silly things. let your hair fly in the wind, stand freely on a bicycle; let your voice run loud and clear, across the stream, lost in the city.
you just want to be free again. free like a kid but you weren’t free as a kid. free like an adult but you’re never free as an adult.
what is freedom, really. we’re so obstructed in these social conventions, in what is right what is wrong.
you’re expected, by others, to act a certain away according to your background. oh, grew up in american education? why don’t you look american. why isn’t your hair curled, why do you dress so conservatively, why are you so shy and introverted.
all these self-doubts and criticisms running back at you, shooting at you like arrows. you’re wary of everyone staring at you, wondering if they’re trying to pry into your mind, dig into your dark hole and figure out - what is really wrong with you?
what is wrong with that messy-haired girl who can’t speak at certain moments because she is at a loss for words - what is wrong with that messily-clad girl whose outfits differ day to day? what is wrong with that girl who can’t make up her mind - who wants one day to be so great and loses herself the next?
what is wrong with that girl - that fucking hypocrite. what is wrong with her.
i don’t know because these are the thoughts that haunt me day by day. fucking inner voice, fucking self-doubt ruling over me. do people even think this way, do they even care.
no one judges that much, why is my inner voice so strong, why is my search for identity so hard to satisfy, so strong a crave?
what is wrong with me - is this just the dilemma of youth? not knowing who you are or what you’re like or who you want to be or anything of the sort.
but why do people seem like they do know.
are we all just fake why are we all so fake. why can’t it be socially acceptable to reveal vulnerability, tell everyone intimate things, get to personal talk immediately before all that jibber-jabber of gossip and small talk. before all those awkward questions jammed at me like “how is american life”, “what are your friends doing”, “how is the weather."
how about ask me, “how are you, really.” or, how about this, “are you happy, really.”
because, who knows what happiness is. has anyone really attained it or is it just a fluke, just here to deceive us. just another word coined up to sell us shit we don’t need, yet another tactic making us consume.
yeah, i don’t know. this is just a purge of my thoughts straight and forward. fuck if you want to read it or not. i’m so done with this life i just want to cut my hair, dye it green and go to sleep for a while.
or, i don’t know. change my friends and get rid of all familiarity so i can start anew and figure out what i’m truly like.
because all my life i’ve felt oppressed. i had to act "a certain way” - be a good kid, be different from others, strive to be better, turn in the right direction - but who says i have to be.
why can’t i enjoy life as well why can’t i be fake as well why can’t i just enjoy being a hypocrite and fuck everyone else who cares.
i just want to sing in an underground bar, join a secret band, ride motorcycles till daylight and laugh till i cry. i just want to feel cramps in my belly again, dark lipstick on my skin again, so i can feel young and be real again.
yeah, i don’t know how to match my desires with reality. i don’t know how to operate normally, function typically. i guess this is who i am and this is who i will be. sorry about that -
now lets go live, really.