i will probably end up changing this around numerous times and never once be satisfied by it. i wish i could find some poetically grand way to describe myself, but i can't. i'm an artist, i suppose. born poor, die poor. i dont want to work. i dont want a job. i want to live. i'm covered in scars and moles, i don't eat until 5 and i sleep on an air matress. when i go into stores, i turn the crosses upside down. when i see a cop, i make comments about bacon and donuts. i walk in bare feet all year round. i am unenthusiastically bi-curious. i can argue both sides of anything. i've blatantly called my parents ignorant, because i would hate to lie. i can't eat with people watching me. shit, i can't do anything with people watching me. i listen to more music than anyone. i write only in pens, and i'm not afriad to admit it. i've had two stalkers, and i ended up stabbing one in the leg. i'll never take the first swing. i hate having people grab at my neck. i hate my brother in ways no one can imagine. i actually want to try drugs, just to see what all the goddamn fuss is about. i am a sucker for irony (hint-it's the use of "god" and the atheism that normally gets me). i'm am pretty damn tall, but i wouldn't mind being taller. i chew fruit flavored gum and write in long paragrpahs with giant indents. i'm an open kisser and a natural flirt. i'm terribly shy. i laugh when i shouldn't and cry long after i should. but thats assuming i cry at all. i stare at men and women, but only the pretty ones. i dont speak to people unless they speak to me first. i am wearing the same black polish on my toes from january. if i could, i'd smoke pot and play the guitar and sleep on kitchen floors and go to slam poetry readings and speak italian. i would have a gay friend who plays the bass and another who smokes grape flavored cigars. do theyn even make those? eh, whatever. i would wear white dresses and grow my hair long, only to cut it off again. i would spend my days in a recording studio and my nights in a hammock. i would sip wine and discuss life on a large, white veranda.
if i could, i would.
perhaps i should get started trying then.
would it surprise anyone to know that i was raised in a pseudo-christian household?
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