a lot of things happen for a reason.

I just wish I had known those reasons a long time ago.

I would have avoided wasting my time, energy, and emotions on people who are inconsiderate and self-absorbed.

I really do believe that most people are good natured and kind, but it isn’t my job to look in the depths of everyone’s souls and bring that out.  It isn’t and never has been.

I used to make so many excuses for those kinds of people.  But that gets you no where.

Some people are just too wrapped up in themselves, and I don’t want to waste anything else on them.  They already waste too much of themselves.  It’s not fair to have me waste my life too.

I never have and never will understand those that don’t

care.

I don’t know why, but I just got this sudden wave of anxious/nervous/excited energy about the future…

my last year in college,

my last summer before embarking into the real world,

my last everything really before “adult life” hits me square in the face.

I really want to be a good, supportive, stable mentor for my kiddies next year,

and I want to do really well academically,

and maintain the friendships and relationships I have now, while building news ones.

I don’t want to regret anything before I leave this place that I’ve called my home for these past several years.

…

I’m just excited to embark on my last year and hopefully do good things for myself and the rest of the campus.

It’s been kind of rough these past couple of weeks because of all the racist happenings.  And I really lost faith in humanity, in general.  But I’m trying to be positive and hopefully the research I do this quarter, and hopefully next year, will help somehow.

I DON’T KNOW.

I just want to help people and be happy.

meh.

But, I can’t lose sight of this quarter…this school year isn’t done quite yet…four more weeks. agh….

I am angry.

See?

I’m so angry that I used both bolding and italicization,

which means that it’s serious business.

crossingoutthingsisalsoacoolfontfunction but that is a sidenote.

I have pin straight hair.

It is limp and lacks

a life; unspeakable, unfathomable life.

It mimics movement

with cuts here 

and here

and there.

And layers upon layers.

But it is not the same.

And sometimes I wish

I had a wild head of hair,

that could be untamed

and free.

Not lackluster or easily

drawn

and tied

and controlled.

I really dislike my feet.

A lot of people say that though.

So what makes this any different?

My toes are strange lengths and one foot is definitely bigger than the other.

And in any shoes I wear, you can see the edges of my toe lines.  You know what I’m talking about.  It’s so irritating.

But, those things have been like that since I was born.

I can’t do anything to change it, and I’ve grown accustomed to seeing my index toe longer than my thumb toe.  I know those aren’t the scientific names for them, but it’s what I call them.

I’m used to those things because they have been given to me, without me having any say whatsoever.

I was never given an option to make my toes strange or “normal” lengths. My mother never asked me in the womb, “Oh child, do you want to have a strange arch in your heel that will make you tiptoe well into adulthood?”

That was never an option.

But my feet are also irritating in a whole other way—

in a way that I had a say in.

And I made and molded them into whatever they are now.

They have lots of cuts on the heels and tops and by my second toe.

They are a constant reminder of where I have been,

the mistakes I have made,

and the mistakes I never did because I was too afraid to even try.

…

Sometimes I try to jam them into shoes I know they won’t fit into because I want to hide them

or make them

beautiful too.

But even in the prettiest shoes, or the tallest of heels,

I can still see the scars from all those past cuts.  And I think that maybe 

I don’t learn. 

I form new cuts

and force myself to endure whatever painful reminder will form

because that’s the only way I know how to grow.

I think that we all have past lives.

And our souls know it.  We remember bits and pieces,

but our brains and bodies are tired 

of holding a past that doesn’t

fit together perfectly—

of a past that is blurry in some edges, and jagged in others.

So we pull that past further and further down, weighted by the immenseness of it all.

But we remember some parts.

Because those souls are complicated, like us.

And they don’t like being forgotten.

But still, I think the parts I remember, I distorted.

I think the parts I remember, I became afraid of.

Because this feeling I have right now,

I know that in this life, I’ve never had it before.

I know that in this life, the past is trying not to catch up with me.

Because they don’t want me to feel pain.

It’s something they all know a little too well.

I like to believe that my past souls are sitting ‘round somewhere, hoping that I don’t make the same mistakes they do, but encouraging me to make my own.  Because when my life is done, I’ll be able to sit with them and guide the next dear soul we share our lives with.

But, 

for now, I think that the feeling I’m feeling,

isn’t a warning sign

or a naive claim to happiness.

I think it’s true,

and even if it ends up being a mistake that my past lives knew too much about, 

I really do see it as something more.

Because I’ve never felt something as easy as this.

And I really have never wanted to fall more than I have now.

Everyone and everything else just pales in comparison.

And I think even my past can agree with that.

I’ve lost all inspiration

and nothing I write or say will ever be

good enough or

memorable enough or

smart enough.

I’m a fraud.

I don’t walk listlessly through streets

or aimlessly through cramped railcars.

I live in one of the most unromantic, easily accessible places, times, eras.

And it’s exhausting to have to 

try

to be artistic.

I’ve lost all inspiration

because I probably never even had it in the first place.