mirror fucking image of no control

i forgot what it felt like to wear tight pants and white shirts and pay attention to characters in spanish stories and the potential energy of ball bearings. i miss break already.

that was my heart.

write. i'm writing. i'm writing a story.

you can't hide behind social graces.

two little girls grown out of their training bras.

two girls together just a little less alone.

where is my mind?

maybe someday i'll write a story not inspired by music and my life. but now is not the time. i live in a dreamstoryworld.

that sadly involves hamlets singing brown eyed girl and a musical version of titus andronicus.

my brain needs help.

oompaloompa.

emmalinda liked me.

how do i get myself into things?

dont answer that...

i want to dance twirl spin out of control but still in control watching the world go by beyond my pointe shoes.

i can't reconcile the different sides of me.

and my least favorite is prep school iris.

how did i get myself into this?