these are incredible times

i never really stop self-destructing, i just rechannel it into new outlets. the latest? smoking cloves. yeah, smoking's bad for me, but if i smoke it's because i want to be bad to myself. i'm insane. one minute i'm up the next i'm down i go from hippie coutry girl to mean inner city kid, from straightedge to please pass the booze, i go through periods of seeing things hearing things talking to myself i don't know who or what i am because i am so many different things at once one minute i could be a rockstar - i want the life of drugs and sex and always on the road, slowly driving myself into the ground partying hard and never giving a damn about tomorrow and then i'm working on a lighting design and obsessing about college and the future and i feel too old too young to quiet too loud too masculine too feminine all at once. who am i what am i? i can't keep track. i never fully fit my skin because pieces of me are pulling in every direction - dancer, professional, street kid, hippie, good daughter, rebel, and i want to be everything at once but that's not possible.