Sometimes I can’t tell if the fact that we as a human species are minuscule is terrifying, or comforting.
Sometimes I wonder if I’ll ever figure out what I want out of this world or what this world wants out of me.
Sometimes I wonder if people think about me when I’m no longer in their lives or when I’m away.
Sometimes I think that when the floors creak, along with my head too I’m rotting.
Sometimes I feel responsible for the happiness of others.
Sometimes I get moody for absolutely no reason other that the mere reason that, I can.
Sometimes I paint people yellow, orange, pink, or purple, who are beige or even grey. (I do this especially often)
Sometimes I say things that don’t match up with what I think, because I act on impulse.
Sometimes I don’t know what I want and often times at that.
Most times I get exceptionally overwhelmed when I haven’t updated my playlists, or I’ve been listening to the same music for too long (approximately two weeks).
Most times I get bored of movies, people, places, classes, colors, clothes, crayons, writings, news, pens, and everything in between.
Most times I go home and go straight to my room instead of stopping in the living room, the kitchen, or any other room.
Most times I crack my neck the way the chiropractor tells me not to.
Most times I push people away simply because I can.
But all the time, I figure it out.
All the time I get myself through even if it feels like the whole entire world is against me.
Not for a minute do I believe that I can’t do it.
Not for a minute do I not work to be better than the expectations put on me, then the standards, then the history.
All the time I believe and stand with me and to all my sisters, I believe and stand with you too.