Saturday, July 19, 2008

they'll seek to burn me, north and south.

This feels like when I stand in front of an empty canvas, when I become frightened by all the possibilities that could be painted upon that vast blank space. There are combinations of letters that could make up so many beautiful words upon this blank page today, various and beautiful combinations, yet I can only think of one - i am incomplete.

I wish I knew. I wish I knew so many things, like whether I'll be in heaven one day, or if I'll ever find the perfect pair of jeans, or whether I'll become famous and make movies about global warming and quests for true love, because I sure can't seem to find these things in my own life. I suppose it's a human kind of thing. We all wonder from time to time whether or not we are making it count. Are we the cool kids, or the band geeks, or high school drop outs, or the ordinary girls from the small towns? I am not famous, so does that mean I am ordinary? I am not beautiful, so should I end up on a dusty shelf in a thrift store, where one wouldn't pay a penny more than I'm worth? I am not smart, so should I put down my books and do something useful, instead of wasting my time with mathematical figures I'll never quite calculate. I am not brave, or royal, or strong, or happy, because I count my pills every morning, and drink to my chemically induced happiness and health...I am not popular, because I cannot list my friends with figures greater that one hundred. I am no movie star, or socialite, or mogul, or daddy's little rich girl. I am not on the Forbe's List of Billionares, and I never will be. So then, I ask you, what is my worth? Is it the saltiness of my tears, or the beating of my heart? The redness of my blood in my veins, or the words from my mouth? Is it the strength of my love, or the measure of my hurt because of loss and love - together they go hand in hand. Should my life be a period. or a question mark? I suppose I answered that myself.

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