Riddled with a thousand forms of fear.
Drugged down in the mud, repeat. Repeat.
I am not insecure about my own insecurity.
Laughter mocks, me...its how I am,
not
a people person some say.
Say the wrong things, oh fukn well, eh?
Anti-social then?
Brave heart socialite, of the computer.
The freedom God given, is that...its my right.
To walk tall, and live large, and dream.
And they laugh.
And they laugh.
And they laugh.
I say you won't believe my stories, but won't you believe in me?
Something big, and the closest to me, don't believe?
Enough to just trust that I would stop,
IF it was only nonsense, and not magic to me.
So confused, how to blend and be me.
So confused how to spend my energy.
What relationships?
Some certainly drain me and waste my time...
Just being for real.
Pulled in a million directions, GET A JOB!
Get a fukn job...
as in my something bigger than a 9 to 5
that I couldn't even handle means nothing???
Arrrrgggghhhh I am so tired of explaining to people!
People. People. People.
Is there a place in this world where I can go and it would be,
cool that I am a writer? Just a writer?
I was told I wasn't a real writer until I was published.
Okay so I know how to attain goals. Like with educational goals, I am a pro.
But I have much less drive to believe in my goals than I did at a younger age...because after having things taken from you over and over because of illness and alcohol, Well this writing bit is pretty much my last attempt to be financially independent and secure on my own. Next attempt with be dating websites with rich old men...and then I can write while they fall asleep at 6 pm...and still be a writer. See its a win win...either I get this by myself or I will use my boobs to lead the way. Yes I said it...they are nice,
A marriage of convenience. And for financial stability. I was offered a deal similar by a 72 year old millionaire a couple years ago, before I flew cookoo bird. Maybe I will blog about that next. And maybe I won't because it is part of the story in my first book...
Drugged down in the mud, repeat. Repeat.
I am not insecure about my own insecurity.
Laughter mocks, me...its how I am,
not
a people person some say.
Say the wrong things, oh fukn well, eh?
Anti-social then?
Brave heart socialite, of the computer.
The freedom God given, is that...its my right.
To walk tall, and live large, and dream.
And they laugh.
And they laugh.
And they laugh.
I say you won't believe my stories, but won't you believe in me?
Something big, and the closest to me, don't believe?
Enough to just trust that I would stop,
IF it was only nonsense, and not magic to me.
So confused, how to blend and be me.
So confused how to spend my energy.
What relationships?
Some certainly drain me and waste my time...
Just being for real.
Pulled in a million directions, GET A JOB!
Get a fukn job...
as in my something bigger than a 9 to 5
that I couldn't even handle means nothing???
Arrrrgggghhhh I am so tired of explaining to people!
People. People. People.
Is there a place in this world where I can go and it would be,
cool that I am a writer? Just a writer?
I was told I wasn't a real writer until I was published.
Okay so I know how to attain goals. Like with educational goals, I am a pro.
But I have much less drive to believe in my goals than I did at a younger age...because after having things taken from you over and over because of illness and alcohol, Well this writing bit is pretty much my last attempt to be financially independent and secure on my own. Next attempt with be dating websites with rich old men...and then I can write while they fall asleep at 6 pm...and still be a writer. See its a win win...either I get this by myself or I will use my boobs to lead the way. Yes I said it...they are nice,
A marriage of convenience. And for financial stability. I was offered a deal similar by a 72 year old millionaire a couple years ago, before I flew cookoo bird. Maybe I will blog about that next. And maybe I won't because it is part of the story in my first book...