I'll teach you to ride on the wind's back.

So come with me, where dreams are born, and time is never planned. Just think of happy things, and your heart will fly on wings, forever, in Never Never Land!

In philosophy class my teacher once quoted that to truly live with presence, you must act with the seriousness of a child at play. Analyzing this further, I sympathized. A child is born with unfathomable curiosity and wonder, not to mention genuine appreciation for the world around it. I also characterize this with the song, "I Hope You Dance" by Lee Anne Womack. I am capable of seeing, unfortunately, that a person's character is almost fully affected by socialization not only by society and its pressures (i.e. peer pressure, prejudice) but also by parents. One of the most interesting first moments I had in that same philosophy class is this scenario my teacher created:
He said, "If you have the pleasure of knowing a child that is two years old or less, listen to the questions they ask. Say one were to ask their parent, 'What is green?' Now suppose the parent turns to the wall of their living room, which is painted green, and point. 'That is green.' It is clear that the adult is able to comprehend that it is not the WALL that is green, but the color itself. They couldn't very well point at a color, so the translation is up to the child and will inevitably lead to more questions."
This scenario both amused and enthralled me very much, so much so that I took a moment to close my eyes and smile at simple recollections of coloring a cow purple as a child. Thankfully, the beauty of art is that I had no art teacher at my shoulder, criticizing my choice to color. Art isn't about the normal black and white terms, it is about the freedom of exploration and experimentation. The same can be said of philosophy and questions. True, sometimes the questions that have no solid answer or foundation may be challenged, but the beauty of the human mind is we have the ability to ponder, to analyze, and most of all to dream and imagine.
Over time socialization has created a predictable path: birth, school, college/ career, marriage, offspring, and helping that offspring continue the process as you live out the rest of your days. Fortunately (and especially in America) we possess the right to be individuals, so every life is important and has a unique story to share.
I have always loved stories, and I suppose that is why I find the tale of Peter Pan so down-right enchanting. It is not enough to say that you've seen the Disney film, and even taking a look into the life of author J.M. Barrie through the movie Finding Neverland is not satisfiable. Upon finishing the original work, my thoughts were so happy I could have ascended into the heavens and laughed with the stars. I feel such a deep connection with both the story and the author (the original Peter Pan) because for as long as I can remember my personality has adapted a childlike exterior. It's not only a matter of "looking young", it's a matter of despite growing up I still hold on to my inner child. I ask questions, my enthusiasm is not bottled, and like a child I am enormously optimistic while I remain in-the-moment. I love to dream towards the future, but I do not over fantasize or stress. I especially do not strain or wallow in the past, unless I'm reflecting on happy memories that I'm enjoying so much that I must squeeze every bit of ecstasy from them before I continue with my usual day-to-day.
Nevertheless, I implore anyone who stumbles upon this to read the original work of Peter Pan by dearest J.M. Barrie. I am confident that even if you do not it is a timeless tale that will last forever in the hearts of children (yes, even that faint sparkle in most adults will keep it alive as long as they remain innocent). Otherwise hold on to childishness, it's all in good fun and will only prove good for you.

My window will remain open for him and his adventures.
You too, Tink.

shatter.

A heart can be many things in terms of love. I give you my heart and it may seem naive, exposing a delicate layer of my endearments as soft as your palm pressed to my face. I look at it as taking a chance, genuinely believing you are positively wonderful and wishing you find me mutually fantastic. It is the confidence that I can see only you ahead of me because you cause the edges of my peripherals to blur where no other bystander phases me. You magnificent, lucky person! I see every cute sunspot and every annoying mannerism, and along the way I've finally reached that point where I've stopped trying to change you. Really, I don't need to when I accept and love every bit of you. My heart has been delivered to you in fragments; hesitant at first, but joyously showered upon you over a year's time.
I apologize that my heart's original condition was meek, but it warmed up to you. You've helped me mature, but my heart loves you with the enthusiasm and happiness of a child still amazed by the world around it. Be gentle, be cautious, and handle with care. Those were my pleas.
I didn't realize how my heart would change. The first time our relationship was tested, my heart felt hollow to the touch with no substance. Fortunately the situation called for me to make a decision, and I chose to sympathize. My heart outstretched earnestly, missing the feelings of being whole. The months that followed we spent more time together than ever, and my heart was overjoyed by the company of constant contentment. I thought I'd seen the worst, but I was mistaken.
The words "you broke my heart" should never be taken lightly.
A person cannot utter such a thing without truly fathoming its depth.

Recently, we were tested once again and the truth was what set me in flames.
No it wasn't anger. Actually, my definition of a broken heart isn't translated in fire.
I stood still and all I could do was remember to breathe.
The intake of oxygen clung to my heart in an icy chill, freezing it solid.
With every word I felt my skin unraveling.
I felt tiny fragments of my heart chipping.
They fell and splintered my other organs, and blood drained.
....What I choked up were tears. Lots of them.
And then the emptiness settled in.
The wretched, agonizing pain of feeling a part of you is lost.
That is what heartbreak feels like....to me.

confront.

How do I pray? Much like I talk: I ramble. Whether public or in private, within the sanctuary of my subconscious I deliver my innermost desperation to the ultimate confidant. Whether that be Him/Her/They/or It is still somewhat undecided within myself, but the basic idea that "someone is listening" provides me solace. I won't be modest: I usually find myself in tears. Lately I have been literally forced to acknowledge things I have chosen to be emotionally ignorant to. For example, my Daddy issues. Rather than being at the edges of my mind caught in cobwebs of trauma, he is a reoccurring image that stabs at painful memories and feelings of rejection. Talking to family members on "his side" through facebook lately has both made me warm with pithy comfort and hostile with a debate over how I feel about my father now (if I decide to let him keep that title).

I digress.

The real subject at hand is my religious standpoint. In the beginning, religion was a "reason" or excuse for bonding with my Grandfather. I would wake up early and help him volunteer at the nursing home his mother had attended, pushing the wheelchairs of patients into the cafeteria and serving them coffee as a service was conducted. I smiled at the atmosphere, but childishly only acknowledged it as family bonding. My grandfather filled the gap my father created when he left, and he was and still is a man I respect above all others. As I began my self-identity crisis and faced what religion really was for the first time, I admit I was standoffish. I took on an agnostic viewpoint because I found myself WANTING to possess faith, but still had my doubts. I didn't want to conform to it because I felt that if it was meant to be I would go through my own enlightenment. This way, it would be more...natural. 

Add in the gay factor, and religion became about the last thing I wanted to confront. I felt fear most of all for the biggest assumption is that I would be condemned to Hell for being what I am. I went through all the stages thinking at first I could change, but quickly realized my orientation isn't a choice. Once this was confirmed within myself, I debated God almost angrily. If it was/is true that I am condemned, I found Him to be a hypocrite. How could I be unworthy of His love simply based on falling in love? Then more tears came. The complexes with rejection my father created made me realize my biggest plea towards God: I don't want to be left behind again. More importantly, I want to acknowledge Him as the one man in my life I can truly rely on. For now I remain in the dark wanting answers to my questions, but now that I have come to accept Him I hope that He will take my hand and lead me into the light one day.

I am thankful to my sister for showing me the website godmademegay.com because after reading the letter I took a very audible sigh of relief. I found wonderful truth within those words, and I feel at last worthy of being taken in His arms to heal. I am a human who will inevitably sin just as I am a young adult who will inevitably be unmotivated at times, but I will promise to make more of an effort. Rather than turning my back and childishly refusing to confront my standpoint, I will branch out and work towards genuine enlightenment. I feel almost silly for this sudden change, but more so warm with happiness as if He is smiling down at me and saying, "About time."

I suggest everyone read the letter I mentioned.

Again I am grateful, and I will press on from here.

run on. and on.

Perspective is both a curse and an advantage.
Always see the silver lining, but don't get caught being naive.
Realists shoot me down as reality inevitably does.
I've succumb to materialism with my new job
Yet there are bigger things to save for.
Better yet, I'll get bitched at for a waste of money
And in turn, a waste of time.
I try so hard to live up to these expectations
Only to find there's another mountain to climb.
I am so eager to obtain that level of respect
Despite knowing what I need is experience
And some years under my belt.
I'm still the Leo craving attention
Or am I the girl wanting recognition...
From the one person I used to despise?
I feel lost, all-of-a-sudden plunging
Into a whirlwind of emotion and nostalgia.
No.
More like feelings I've pushed away
Until now.
An anxious grasp is forever squeezing
My heart and also my lungs,
Suffocating the air that would provide a pithy relief.
I am capable of looking ahead
And estimating what I desire to happen.
I am also capable of possessing enough
Ambition to get me to that point.
Only now do I suffer
From the doubt or set-backs.
I just need to keep on pushing,
Hoping I'll pass the mountains
And make it to peaceful hills.
Who knows, they're could be a
Beautiful lake there.


Complacent.

anxious, curling toes.

I have a tendency to ramble, so let's make this more blunt: I have had an interest and passion for languages since an early age. Upon closer inspection and experience I've realized that I chose not to pursue it as a career because of a lack of support. No one ever really gave me much recognition. Those four years I tackled Japanese and received excellence awards...I was proud of myself, but not many people engaged me in conversation over it. I gleamed whenever someone showed interest or praised me, but otherwise I usually had to deal with types who dismissed me as nothing more than a geek.

And yet.

It may seem arrogant, but really it's normal to desire recognition...it makes an individual feel more accomplished and confident. Therefore, it is because of the encouragement I've received lately that I've decided to pick up the reins again and head onto a new path.

Always impulse. Why not?

My plan? Not too many specifics yet. I talked to an advisor and switched majors. I plan to most likely minor in Japanese and my major thus far is undecided although it could be English. After obtaining a Bachelor's at least, I will become involved in the JET program with my friend. Don't know what it is? Look it up.

I still feel like I'm rambling.

Oh well, in a nutshell that's life for now.

Cheers.

a lack of memory.

I've always referred to my biological father bitterly, but despite my resentment he is still the man that helped bring me into this world. The reason I only ever have negative things to say about him is actually because... I can't remember much else. Last night my sister Amanda told me our aunt Teari added her on facebook, but I tilted my head and admitted that I couldn't remember her, much less did I remember simple things like Dad being the middle child and having two brothers. So I have two uncles whose faces and even names are a blur of nonexistence in my memory. Astonished, Amanda pressed more and when she realized how little I could recall she concluded that I must've subconsciously blocked him out. She worries, she thinks that something very traumatic may have happened...and the idea is possible so I'm bewildered.

More importantly, I'm frustrated. Regardless of whether or not I "like" my dad, I still feel robbed of childhood memories. The divorce between my parents happened when I was eleven, and that is the beginning of my few clear memories of him. I remember how he used to pick Amanda and I up from school for a quick snack or how he'd take us to Putt-Putt Golf. After that we visited him in Hawaii twice, but during those visits I remember little things like watching movies or how he got drunk one night while we played a board game and he suddenly tried giving me advice on life and yelled at my stepmom for interjecting. I remember walking out of their little apartment and walking to the end of the hall because we weren't on the first floor. I pressed my back against the wall and sighed, and of course Amanda came running after me. Everything before this I can't recall.

I can see Mom. I can see cuddling with mom, I can see talking to Mom or bugging her after work, I can see her cooking and I can see shopping with her as a child. But I can't see Dad. I can't remember what he was like as a father. I have one fuzzy memory from Hawaii when I was just learning to ride a bike... I remember riding around the neighborhood (it was a sort of culldasack military-housing set-up) and he was watching with his buddies, unsurprisingly also sipping a beer. He laughed when I said I couldn't figure out the brakes, and I remember tears rolling down my face as he and the group laughed... then green. Lots of green, I crashed into a field. I came back whimpering and asking for a bandaid but he told me to toughen up and I never got that bandaid. Since then I've associated this memory to my complex with showing weakness or crying in front of people.

I resent him so much, but I didn't ask to forget him almost entirely. If it weren't for the fact that those trips to Hawaii were somewhat recently, I would have a hard time being able to remember him at all. It already feels like I have to squint and focus when I'm trying to think of what he looks like.

Why the bitterness? Here's what I recall: Jeffrey Thomas Sampson. A man my mother met in the Navy as a diver and who she eloped with in Hawaii. He drank a lot, was controlling and criticized my mother, didn't like seeing my mother's side, yelled a lot, had crude humor, and he looked like a mix of Cuban and Indian because of his darkly tan skin. Mustache, increasing baldness, tall, skinny despite a beer belly now and then, and when he propped his feet up I noticed they look just like mine. He walked out on my mom a lot, I faintly remember a few yelling-fights, and most of all I remember my mother's breakdown after she realized he had cheated on her. Even fainter is the memory I have of him packing his truck and driving off. After that, I was in my room a lot. Mom was always sad and distant, but I didn't understand what a broken heart meant. I found out what it looked like when I walked in on my sister helping our drunk mother into bed... she was making a lot of noise crying so I walked into her room ("....Mommy?") and saw her writhing...asking over and over why my father did this to her. My eyes went wide, and Amanda finally saw me and walked me back to my room and told me to stay.

I suppose that is why I truly despise him. I grew up as mommy's-girl, so to see that "daddy" was the reason that mommy was so sad is a simple conclusion. I'm still frustrated - I mean, most people get upset if their technology or money is stolen... but me?

I'm upset by a lack of memory.

Bye Daddy.

intimacy or intimidation?

Philosophy praises the agnostic, or the ignorant non-believer that stands by the mindset of "I don't know". The idea of relying on faith alone is both something I've always admired and doubted within religion. The passion, the emotion, the hope... the idea that a person can believe with all of their heart or entire being that someone or something is real. In THAT sense religion can be endearing to me. Better still, it not only can bring people together but also make a person feel more at ease or fufilled within themselves. I yearn for that absolute faith that everything will be okay, the day even the little doubts will melt away.

Although private, my introduction to one significant person many months ago threw my beliefs off balance. Not to say I've ever successfully managed balance, but they had a very impressive story to share. I could not help but give my full attention, and realize as they spoke that this was not only very serious, but also very true. Ever since that day of enlightenment, I have on and off contemplated my religious standpoint... and finally picked up where I left off on my internal debate. I found comfort in that standstill I was at, content in the idea that not knowing was safe although not as fufilling. Atheism proved too lonely, honestly. I finally started to grasp awkwardly onto prayer, still unsure of "who" I was talking to but feeling somewhat happy in the idea that someone could be listening. Anywhere from the inside of my car to on a toilet, I talked to this invisible person. In my head, out loud, laughing, rambling, crying... I took on no modesty as I confided. In fact, based on my favorite quote from the book The Color Purple, I have for a long time now appreciated the little things in life more. An example would be that while driving a bird may fly by in my view and I can't help but sigh and smile because the grace of it is calming. I told my sister this (who by the way is very settled within her faith), and she smiled and told me that God not only created that bird for me to see, but I should be grateful for the happy feeling it gives me. I found truth in this, but still apologized for holding on to "I don't know" when it comes to God. She shook her head, not wanting to rush me because as she said it is a personal journey.

And yet.

She worries. You cannot believe in God without believing in the devil, same is true for believing in both a heaven and hell. Based upon the story of that signifant person, I have specific worries. The story made me believe in something I never thought I would, but the imbalance of little faith is where the trouble is. I refuse to rush my journey, I believe my enlightenment will come in time through my own efforts but I am thankful for meeting this significant person. I am thankful for becoming less ignorant, for there are way too many people who comfortly remain that way and never reach genuine fufillment. I still have my questions and doubt, but I feel more at ease knowing that I am heading in a positive direction. Possibly my biggest fear is rejection by God because I am gay, but like my sister and many others I don't believe homosexuality is a sin. Moreover, to love is not a sin. Another favorite quote of mine is from L Word (laugh if you must), when the conservative father of Bette asks what she will do on the day of judgment. She responds simply, "I will say I am your creation, and I am proud."

Time will only tell from here.

fun with shadows.

I consider it a sign of luck when suddenly the shadow of a flying bird soars above my own, sketched out perfectly on a canvas of pavement. I pause as suddenly the bird comes into view above my head and smile as it floats on with little effort but much grace. Sometimes my mind will wander as I press on, imagining the shadow of that bird flying down to pick my shadow up by its shoulders and zoom onward. On to more pebbled streets and sidewalks, but also into the comfort of soft grass and perhaps an intermission under the shadow of a humble willow. Barely a breath is uttered and the only "words" that are uttered come from the sighing leaves of the willow in the wind, but the bird's shadow is feeling adventurous again. My shadow experiences stretching across long suburban fences and flies into the city, climbing buildings in a matter of seconds. I remain walking, bathed in warm sunshine but look down to no companion at my feet until the bird's shadow returns. It chucks mine free and in an instant I feel the collision, laughing like a kid as I jump up and down and my shadow mimics. I don't frown when the sun recedes because I don't think of my shadow as gone, but maybe hiding...or flying.

Smile.

growth.

I feel so refreshed.

Perfection will remain out of grasp (and for good reason), but the smile dancing on my lips is genuine. My financial insecurities have held me back at a stand-still for quite some time, but at last I am moving forward again and taking hold of those reins. I have an interview this weekend with Best Buy and my chances are very high. I have my new friend Justen to thank for that, and his friendship has also helped "free" me from my irksome routines. He is a technical geek with his own Nikon D90, and his room is filled with technology. Just the other day we packed his car with equipment and had a random photoshoot with Shelby. Quite frankly, he is helping boost my confidence. He is teaching me about cameras and their settings, about photoshop and lightroom, and helping me gain experience and continue further with photography. I believe in coincidences, so the fact that I randomly called him that day asking if Best Buy was hiring was meant to be. Thus, a very spontaneous friendship I can learn and grow from is born.

I'm so grateful.

opposite wars.

My clenched jaw is sore, my teeth barricade the words I want so desperately to convey. Dealing with a specific conflict is one thing, but when the problem in question is the person's very skin, I hesitate. Not her skin really, but her entire persona all together that wraps her into a cocoon that is anything but endearing at times. I have made a habit of fancying opposites in a sister, a lover, and even a best friend. "Opposites attract" holds true thus far in romance, but over the last two years the one friendship I held most dear has crumbled again and again.
In truth, I acknowledged the differences Taylor and I had even in the beginning. The difference between then and now, however, is that back then I held my tongue. I stood by that loyalty that meant friends loved each other unconditionally, and accepted her faults and all. When her faults began to get too irksome, I created distance. I didn't hang out with her for a period of time and thus the frustration melted away and I began to miss her again. Now and especially lately, though, I can't seem to brush my feelings aside when Taylor's true colors come out. I rebel even, expressing opposition to most of her viewpoints. We don't get into normal arguments. Instead, one feels that the other is backing them into a patronizing corner and our most common reaction is to be defensive and lash out. Taylor's favorite habit is to inflate conflicts by pointing fingers. She'll suddenly turn on me, pinpointing my flaws because she will literally argue her standpoint til she is blue in the face. I have learned that it is OKAY to be wrong sometimes and I can say with full confidence that unlike her I know when to quit. She, however, will only degrade herself further by feeding the fire. She holds herself high above others and can be so unbelievably ignorant despite her feelings of superiority. I'm tired of this war. Most of all, I'm tired of being the only one who fights for her. Who actually fucking tries. Instead of hiding behind the internet or her phone, she never confronts conflict directly. I called her the other night because we were texting obnoxiously and it wasn't getting anywhere. But apparently watching a movie with her "boyfriend" was too important to pause even when I left a message saying that I was also calling for the sake of our friendship. Taylor's internet relationships is one thing that has always bugged me, but I learned to accept it. There have even been times where people have started to analyze her and make fun of her but I stood up for her and told them they had no idea who she was or what she's gone through, so I shut them up. But the fact that an internet relationship was favored above a real friendship annoys me more than anyone can possibly imagine.

I didn't write this to stir up another war. Quite honestly, if Tay chooses to comment this I will delete every single one as she once did for one of my comments on hers. I wrote this to get my feelings out before I say one last goodbye. I was foolish to choose an opposite for a best friend, so a normal acquaintanceship or small friendship will be all I will tolerate between her and I.

Enough.

mirror test:

A puff of hot breath or the aftermath of a steamy shower creates a barrier between my reflection and I. With my hand I swipe through the fog until a pair of eyes oppose mine, identical. I ignore the smear and tilt my head. Unlike most, I don't see translucent strings rising into the hands of a conformist puppeteer. I do see lips with rebellious, defying opinions hanging on the rim, however. It has its share of scars and peeling due to many years of anxious biting, but I take pride in having a big mouth as opposed to one that is small or meek. I raise my hand to my neck, gently tapping a string of freckles... I smile, remembering how someone special once pointed out that it looked like a necklace of brown dots. My hand falls limp to my side, outling my inherited wide hips. I click my tongue in a Tinkerbell-inspired pout, but in truth I no longer feel disdain for the similarities I share with my mother. I take pride in what I have, but that doesn't mean I can't pursue weight loss. The reason? Certainly not peer pressure, much less am I hopping on the bandwagon to embrace the ideal image of a woman's body. No, keep your calculated diets and empty bellies. I'll live up to an ambition at my own pace.

The "test" is simple. Look at yourself in a mirror and make a description of what you see ranging anywhere from personality flaws to raw limbs. It's healthy to like yourself as you are, but no one's perfect. Here I am, admitting that I'm content with myself but striving for a little more.

sunspots on her ear

I had a dream that I was on the tip of that dandelion you blew, making a wish that made me smile. the feathered tidbits flew into the sky and danced and tickled your face, and I landed on your ear. I went down as if on a slide, playing connect-the-dots with your three cute sunspots. as your hand gravitated towards your itch, I threw my body on your dimple and felt like I was in a garden because your cheeks were rosy. my mouth curled into a side smile -- hidden -- and I looked up in awe at your two pools of aqua-colored eyes. I saw dolphins leaping, and my mind was overtaken by nostalgic memories. I shielded my own eyes as copper streaks in your hair glimmered up above, masked in golds as well as bronze. for one reason or another your smile recedes and I find refuge by lounging on your nose, causing your eyes to cross. I laugh silently and find myself placed on your palm, leaning in sheepishly to kiss you. I know you are bigger, but I close my eyes anyway.

then they opened, the dream was over but there you were

hovering above me with a smile."aw, you fell asleep?"

I love upside down kisses.

oh and I'm feeling

directionless yes, but that's to be expected
and I know that best.
-T&S

soil, soil.


I feel like everyone has such great expectations that I can't always live up to. I feel like I am a rope that is being tugged on, one ligament at a time. My fibers are frazzled, my ends are split. I try to divide myself evenly but find I'm not gifted with balance. Some people I coil around protectively but there are others I'd rather ensnare or whip fiercely. There are a selective few I bind myself to, committing to them eternally and asking them humbly to never let me go. Other times...I just want the game to be over and for everyone to let me fall to the ground.

I had a dream

and there was one thing that stuck out in my mind.

"I want a girl with dust in her eyes"

In the dream I was in a classroom. Instead of challenging the symbolism, my classmates laughed at me... or whoever was in my perspective. I never see myself in my dreams. Anyway, I woke up and couldn't shake the quote.

Possible imagery/

Dust:

1. a low or humble condition

2. disturbace; turmoil

3. debris; junk

alt...

throw dust in someone's eyes: to mislead; deceive:

So far it all seems so negative. The most in depth I got was that I wanted someone humble, but who still expresses their grief. I don't want someone misleading however, so the dream has me stumped. Why are all of my dreams so strangely abstract? It's always too early for symbolism.

endurance slipping

I can't help that I'm human, I can't help that I succumb to petty feelings of jealousy. But am I wrong? We are practically spoon fed the concept of love as a man and woman from childhood, so in theory I am the abnormal one. In my heart, however, I feel I should not be at blame. It's just the way I am. I believe I was born this way, I didn't randomly choose a lifestyle that would create such awkward complications. As a Leo I am the one who craves attention, but within a relationship I naturally wish to shower my significant other with adoration. This little game of simple touches or intimate glances is barely enough to sustain me within the public eye, I wish so much that I could proclaim or even flaunt my feelings openly. We go out and I see dozens of heterosexual couples holding hands or kissing each other on the spot and it's like my heart is being squeezed by an anxious grasp. I become so green with envy but I merely bite my lip and look upon her with as much love as possible, but even then I hold back because I do not want to make her feel uncomfortable or raise too much suspicion. I hear stories of homophobia or abuse constantly, but usually I keep it at the back of my mind because I live my life without thinking of myself as different. It is not until a demonstrative situation occurs that I must confront what I really am: a taboo. Then the anger settles in, the frustration over such ignorance. I wish that I could go on a date with my girlfriend and hold her hand or kiss her cheek, I wish we didn't have to sneak or hide our intimacy like it's something we should be scared or ashamed of. I feel like if there is a God, they are the only with the right to judge. I wish people didn't naturally fear difference, I wish they thought individually and adapted an open mind as well as a heart capable of unconditional love. I fear I will always have to hide a part of who I am, and it's not fair but it's how it has to be. I have to be considerate, withdrawn, polite, or whatever bullshit excuse you fancy. I'm tired of having to hide, having to be quiet or not completely honest, I'm tired of the judgments and accusations. The tears are coming and they won't stop. Why is it so wrong? I'm human and love comes naturally. I can't help that she has a vagina. A part of me wants to say sorry, but when I think that I get angry because I feel that there is nothing to be sorry for. It's not wrong to be in love. It's not wrong to want to express it. I'm not a freak, I don't have a disease, there's nothing wrong with me. I'm practically clutching my sides and repeating these words like a cooing chant.

I'm sorry, I'm not sorry.

I want to be myself but I'm afraid to.

That's so twisted.

Not fair, not right, not fathomable.

I pray that things will change

but I don't believe they will.

Life will never be that easy.

I save all my wishes for you.

Ever eyelash or dandelion,

Every time 11:11 hits the clock,

Each time a star shoots across the sky,

Or when I just feel like wishing.

Most of the time, though...

I only wish everything will be okay.