Word Vomit

It’s funny how I see my car as my safe haven. Even though I know how bad I drive sometimes, And how bad the people around me drive. I can be taken out at any moment. And yet, I feel completely safe. Isn’t that odd? What’s even stranger is how I have come to enjoy LA traffic. I don’t know. Sometimes it’s a pain in the ass, But most of the time it feels kind of therapeutic. When I’m alone in my car I let it all out. After a shitty day I’ll release a roar of frustration as I blast my music. I get to yell at the idiots around me And they have no idea what I’m shouting at them. I flip the bird a lot when I’m out on the road. Sometimes with a grin. Every now and then I’ll cry. There doesn’t have to be a sad song playing. It just happens. As the tears stream down my face I feel the weight of my existence dragging me down. I’ll think about life and wonder what the point is. Then someone will cut me off and I’ll snap out of it. ...

Things are about to shift. I’m uneasy. Always anticipating the worst. As exhausted as my body feels I can’t go to sleep. Tossing and turning for hours on end. Everything is about to change. The thought of your absence terrifies me. But there is nothing I can do. You’re going to leave, And I’ll be here trying to sort things out. This transition hasn’t been easy. None of it feels real. My mind is stuck in the past. You have been my excuse to hold on. But I know that once you leave it’ll finally hit me. I’ll be forced to accept my reality. And that’s what scares me the most. I’ve been bracing myself for the heartbreak. Even though you haven’t left yet, I feel as if I already miss you. With you goes the person I used to be. Who I am now will soon become a memory. Nothing but a souvenir for you to take home. All you’ll leave behind is a hollow shell. Physically I’ll remain the same, But everything else will change. I’ll ...

I sit in class everyday and actually listen. Not only to the teacher, but to you. You don't know my name. Sometimes you forget I exist. But I know your name. Alex. You have a dog named Sparky,. You play soccer, And your favorite color is green. I must really like you if I know all of this useless information, right? No. In fact, I think you're a jerk and a bit of a racist. The only reason I know these things is because you talk during the lecture. Also, you wear green all the time. I know a lot about Brenda, Jimmy, and Susan too. And although I would never want to be friends with any of you, I do find you all very intriguing. Also, I think Mr. Clark is getting a divorce. He's stopped wearing his ring and he doesn't mention Karen anymore. It's funny how I know so much about all of you, But you know nothing about me. I laugh to myself at the shocked looks on your faces when I say a single word. Didn't know I could talk, huh? And even ...

Write a draft. Scrap it. Write another. Scrap that shit too. Delete. Delete. Delete. Okay, let’s start over. Fuck. Why do I want to be a writer again? Definitely not in it for the money. That’d be hilarious. I guess I want to express myself. Only problem is I am so damn complicated. Cynic. Lonely. Anxious. Bi. There are so many sides of me. It’s like I’m not one person. I don’t know where to begin. So I guess I’ll start here. I know the Facebook page and the blog have been up for months. But I wasn’t ready. All those posts were forced. I had started something and I wasn’t sure what to do with it. Why do you think I haven’t promoted this more? Now I know what to do. I know I have to stop moping around. And that my writing is never going to be top-notch shit. So instead of seeing this as a chore, I’m going to make this thing a hobby. I am going to write what I like and not care what you think. Well... maybe I’ll ...