Homeless

Sometimes I get people asking me if it was hard struggling with homelessness for so many years through my adolescence, and all I can tell them is it wasn't as bad as it could have been. I don't think I have the audacity to say I was stricken with a sense of helplessness to the extent that many others are left to feel.
I didn't have a home, yes. I didn't have a bed, I didn't always have someplace to lay my head.

But I had hope. I had my health, I had my dignity, and I had friends. I wasn't raped on the streets like many others, I wasn't sick and disabled, I wasn't mugged, I wasn't stripped of my sense of self worth, I was lucky.
I was followed, and I went hungry, I had my personals with me, and I was able to get out of sticky situations. I felt my dignity slip away a bit, I do have to admit that I was willing to do anything for something to eat. Even dirt looked nice. I felt real hunger and I would have probably slept with strangers if it meant I had someplace to sleep. I always say the only thing separating the "sleazy" hookers on University, and I, are the opportunities were ran into or lack there of, and the fact that I was not in the wrong place at the wrong time being given what I thought was the right choices.

I'm happy I made it somewhat out without doing any real damage, other than committing to a relationship I didn't want because he fed and sheltered me. I wasn't arrested for stealing, I wasn't hooked on drugs while looking for a coping mechanism, and I had friends and some family who didn't mind letting me set my head down at their house for a while. I wasn't a statistic, I wasn't a number, I was doing alright and I tasted my first ounce of real life, a bitter and lonely one.
I try not to let what has happened to me over the years turn me into someone who is prude, spiteful, vindictive, manipulative and bitter. I say spiteful and vindictive to hurt the ones who said they'd always be there, but weren't; and bitter to those who try and speak to me not but I can't stomach up enough of a voice to yell, or bare to look them in the eye without feeling the hurt creep within me and out my pores. I can be better than this, I can be better than a spiteful prude. I want to be exactly how I deserve to be, happy.

Post-teen Adult

    Never really thought I had that, "coming to age" phase of my life, like I had always been made to take care of myself or others, but recently... recently this is not the case. 

     You have to figure out where your boundaries start and where they end, what you're willing to say you did and what you will spend the rest of your life telling yourself didn't happen, It was just a hiccup. 

    I can't say for sure where my line begins, or ends... It's so messed up. 

    There are infinite situations, infinite possibilities, you are stuck with making one decision to one situation that could go from sweet to sour and a part of me knows I will not sleep until I've gotten a piece of everything that could happen. That's my fault. 

    I got involved with a guy I didn't know because he reminded me of the home I didn't have anymore, or the family that wasn't there. I had no intention to make myself available to this person, but with the help of alcohol and a lonely fresh start, it happened. Don't get me wrong, I've met him before, I know his name, I know about his family or lack thereof, but I didn't feel like I knew him enough, This one moment of shame/regret has turned my privet business into a public one after a friend and a friend of a friend learned about this one night stand. I don't think there's anything else in this world that makes me angrier than having a group of other people in my business, then again, It's my fault, kinda. 

    Anyways, you know that thing you shouldn't do, but you do anyways, and then you immediately feel bad about doing it, but you can't seem to stop? You trade one bad habit for the other and decide any advice you give yourself is as useful as a dead bird? 

   We know, when we're younger, that we can take risks, we can do bad things, we want that rush, that feeling we hadn't ever felt before, it's your friend and you want it to keep coming back. But what about when you get older? These are not just habits, this is you. This has become something you do regularly and now your questions from young adulthood have been answered. Am I a shitty person who does shitty things, or am I a good person who fucks up quite a bit? 

    I'm no younger than 20, but I'm also no older than 25, and I still have no clue. 

The New Year

Well, it's the new year, and oh have I been through some weird stuff.

Since May I have left my disaster boyfriend, moved to Texas and become stranded, get a year older and take care of my nephew through a weird time.

Because there is not enough time in this world to go over everything that happened between my boyfriend and I, I will just say it is better this way and maybe I shouldn't develop a habit of taking back horrible men just because they get wet eyes at the thought of being alone. I am so much more happier now not being someone's mom and not pandering to his over privileged sense of entitlement, and it's not even something that's realistically understandable to me at this point.

I moved back to Texas! And that was a blow... I almost regret going back. Almost.

Now I'm back in Minnesota, it's not perfect, but, it's better... Better than before...

Can I be a writer without being a journalist?

Of course, right?
I want many things out of life, I want to be many things, see many things and experience wonderful things.
But there's something breaking me.
I would love to take photos, and write for a living - travel and write the stories of the lives of other people.
The last thing the world needs is another "Miss. Hope" writing about the "poor" from a place she deems unfit for civilized persons...
I'd much rather come as close as I can to walking along the path they've walked, see people as people, and let them tell me what no one else will hear.
I hate this cliche but I want to do it for a living.
I want to help and give until I have nothing else to give.
My time, years, work, hands, my voice and ears.
Lend out me, it's the least I could do.

Never enough for opening night

It's like doing what you can do is never good enough. you try and try to make the things in your life work, but all you end up doing is fucking it all up.

like Art.

You can se it in your mind, you can struggle with the same thing everyday, you can try and make something ugly beautiful, but it might never happen. You have people who know how to do it, not show you. They think theyre helping you by allowing you to fall on your face so that you may learn a lesson. Again and again they do this until they're sure you are learning. but you're not, you're lost and can't find your way out.

Hm, wasn't really sure about my announcement.

I am not sure how to say it out loud and embrace it. Anything celebrated in my life usually dissolves and becomes weak. So weak it crumbles and leaves me.
I am appreciative, I am in an infatuation of love. I have created an outlook which to hold my life too, why.
I am intrested, I want to know more.
I gaze into his eyes, knowing something's different. But what can it be?
Is it he who is strange, or I. Will I find something so disturbing that I cannot look past?

From his silhouette next to the silhouettes of men past, this cannot be as bad. this can not be horrible, and I am not shallow. My love for others stretch far and wide, I do not see the mistakes or troubles of some, but the great that is waiting to come out. The new I never get to see, the love they have to show, and the unique life they will spare me.

From what I am  witness too, to what I am guilty of, a tamper dove of ignorance seems to fly through.
I am disturbed, I am insane, but I am also obsessive.

Obsessed not with those I am with, nor those I meet, but with the lives they live and the eyes I gain.

Insufferable pain

I might just die, the pain throbbing through my system, flowing in and out my vessels I cannot be still.

Ouch...

I would rather be done, rather be gone, my dramatic stay cannot be any longer. Put me out my misery and throw the stone.

I am done.