I wonder if perfection exists. I wonder if there are moments where everything feels right. No stray thoughts, no doubts. Just you and your moment and its perfection on every side. Why we go after something outside of ourselves I do not know. But I do know that I do just that. These words "I" and "want" are perhaps two of the most destructive words there are. But I do want. And so do you. It's what makes us real. I so want to be real. At the same time, so much of me does not feel like this is reality, like this is where we are supposed to be. So much of me exists somewhere else. So much of me is ensnared by the dream. Every one of us has a life, and a dream. But I do not believe in humanity's originality and therefore I do believe that while there is a writer who creates a character who ensnares your imagination, or captures your heart, there is hope. Because there is someone else out there who felt the need for that existence and so there must be more. There must be someone who understands just as much. Is it safe here? Are we safe anywhere? Everywhere we go we are accompanied by humanity, and humanity is one of the most disturbing concepts I have ever come across. A dream is always possible. Somehow. There has to be a place where someone is living their dream. Because then it's worth it, all the pain humanity endures and puts us through, all the words, all the miseries, all the tragedies, all the griefs. All the things we wish for, all the uncertainties that makes us cry. All of that is only worth it if someone somewhere is living their dream. Maybe that is the balance, of what you want and what somebody else wants. We need to want, so that we can find our dream, and then live it. And then the fact that we are will give inspiration to the billion others who are not. It all matters so much, and it all matters so little. That's not me being cryptic. I am trying to find that balance. I am trying to figure out what is worth it, and why. I'd like someone to come around and tell me. I'd like to know that somebody knows. In their every moment, they have an understanding of the world around them that is not perfect, but is perfectly balanced. I'd like to say hello.

Sometimes it feels like I am under the ocean, with gallons of water pushing down on me. I cannot move, I cannot breathe, but my consciousness cannot leave. I feel I'll explode. Sometimes the emotions that laugh as they toss me between them in their on-the-beach of Mars volleyball match, feel like they are corroding to touch. What if we are mistakes? What is there is no freedom in this world? What if our destiny is to die? Morbid, I know. Negative, I know. Depressing, I know. But that doesn't mean it's not true. After reading James Patterson's Maximum Ride all I know is how much I want that existence. Of not knowing where I will be tomorrow. I want to know my mission. I want to be able to spread wings from my back and fly, knowing that someone has my back. I am so tempted to take a screwdriver to my brain. What a waste we are. We pollute and destroy, we know nothing but consumption and then when it is too much for our bodies to handle we puke it all up for the Earth to handle once more. If we could extract ourselves from ourselves, if we were to live to survive, there would be no such thing as worrying about whether you would be happy tomorrow. Instead, it would be, I'm not sure I will be alive tomorrow so I might as well take this happiness now. I can't find it all the time. We're failures in this place. I try for positivity but sometimes I want to scream myself hoarse and I just cry...so much. It is such a waste. Sorrow is wasteful. Tears do not help. Anger does nothing. So what do I do? How do I channel this utter potency into something so I don't feel a need to just leap off a cliff and have those few moments of freefall that are worth it because what else is. What else is there? I'm not some negativity freak. I don't like feeling this way. But I can't escape myself and honest to God I wish I could. Because I think somewhere deep inside, I think I might hate myself. I have learnt not to hate other people, I have learnt not to hate the world. I think I might hate myself. Hate myself for existing, because inside every existence there are mistakes and I want to hang myself for how often I just fuck up. Can somebody just give me a way to live please. A way to just make people happy. I want a group to take care of, because I coukd and because then there is purpose. Now there is only blur. There is only muddle. There is only...me. And there's no way I am enough. What's to stop me running in the road? None of it is ever good enough and it really feels like the world should be burning. We can't live like this. I want children to care for. Failure, failure, failure. That word haunts me, chases me. I don't know who, I don't know where. But we are always going to fail somebody. How screwed up is that? Can't I just skip this part? God, I hate my tears. They are the biggest waste and there is no-one, no-one who will know enough to wipe them away. I don't deserve it. If I'm going to be miserable, lets swap someone appreciative and good into my place. God, what is this place?

Today I wondered, deep down inside, what it really is. All this hype, all this energy that goes into pointless fundamental things.

Prompt: Nothing has changed.

Still weak at the knees when the certain boy of the certain type looks at me, still sappy in my eyes as I cry like a vacuole needing to implode. Really focussed on nothing, and always concentrating on so many, so much at once. Congratulations it's all over. Nothing really does change except ourselves and how we take what we are given. Good or bad. Whatever it is. Nothing really has changed. I can't believe that for everyday in evrey moment I see what has changed in me. I see how there is a certain light deep inside, I see how I do not now hide.
I wrote and I wondered, whatever you will think, this is what I feel. When I was a child I was innocent and playful while hiding under the covers to express all methods and sorts of mad emotions. I know and feel all this. That is the truth. But also there is a certainty. When she died, was lost to me, the light and this world, when her mother had to bid her farewell that certainty disappeared and it was oh so very hard to remain on track. As I steadily tried, moved up a step only to lose by over five, under eighteen still and I know what great anger, great betrayal, great sadness. I know these things. I could tell you these things, make you feel things, become aware. But I would still just be the girl who right now is focussing on how good you look, how much she flusters under your attention and how ridiculous she feels everytime she gives in to ridiculous impulses. I was thinking as I told you "it's a long story" you want to know what I was thinking, considering? "One day I'll tell you it over a drink." but I wasn't concentrating on what I'd tell you. I was concentrating on spending time with you. Because we move, we grow, we come full circle and we learn. Yet there are some things that are not lessons but rather ideals and we are allowed and even obligated to live as that teenage girl who wants to think about how much she dreams about standing with your arm draped around her shoulders. Draped on her, around her.
Feel jealous about things that will not happen, want things to wear that would never fit. I try to live both ways, as that care-free teen free of responsibility who is living on hormones and fantasies, and that deep, mystical, place inside which is all about thoughts, belief and rage.
But it's a balance I need. Because I can't go so one way or so another, I'm out of depth when it's too shallow and I'm frightening when it's too deep. Find a way, connect, touch, breathe, scream, now. Windswept, loud, blowing deep and hard, the wind hits. Fly away and don't you dare try hold me back, there are chains on my feet and they are there not to hit me with pain or hold me back, or for you to grab, shackle, loop and pull me back but for you to hold on to, shackle yourselves to and follow me up. Let me go, or come with me. I'm going either away.

Crazy that I'm here. Crazy that someone on the other side of the world can hear me, read me, even see me. Madness. Very good madness. Listen please. I'm not presumptuous, lord I hope not. And I'm not angry, compared to what I used to be. Now I am only tired, and waiting. Not waiting tiredly, or even impatiently. Just expectantly, as much as I can