Looking back on all the stuff I’ve said here…
I was almost sixteen when I first joined help.com. Now, I’m nineteen and some change, and I can’t believe what an idiot I was. I mean, I may be an idiot now, but jesus! My poetry sucked, my writing sucked, all I thought about was guys and… hey whaddya know nothing’s changed! Just kidding. But really, I’d almost rather have that mind back. Back then, I had this… fire, burning inside, splitting my chest open with all the love I had for the world, even though it showed me the cruelest ****. Then, eventually, after the intense probation and the quitting drugs and alcohol and suspending myself in liminal time, I find that I am indeed mortal, and that tomorrow does come. When I was all spaced out on shrooms all the time, ecstasy and what not, I thought that was the rest of my life. Live or die, didn’t make a difference to me- I thought I was indestructible. Now I fall to pieces from one simple word, or impossibly offended by a slight action. I hate who I have become, and I hate who I was. I… don’t see what’s left in the world for artists. If I’d been born in say the eighties, like my boyfriend, everything would be great. But I’m still too young. Too immature. Too short. Too manic. and too hopeful that maybe the tomorrow I’ve painted myself into will yield a more beautiful picture, like a Bob Ross painting, only to look out the window and see Van Gogh’s starry night, swirling yellows and blues reflecting off damp asphalt. Yes, I am an adult now. I am myself now. If only I knew who I… am.
Since writing this post WhiteLoomCrows may have helped people, but has not within the last 4 days. WhiteLoomCrows is a verified member, has been around for 4 years, 2 months and has 125 posts and 417 replies to their name.
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