Im ready.

Its happening, yet again. 

My stagnant heart has been banging around in my chest for days. 

Weeks actually. 

Im so tired of these sobering actions and stances. 

Let me be drunk please. 

Let me be drunk with love and fury. 

Let my days be full of emotions and everything. 

And my nights full of whispers and lust.

Let me lose sleep over things that threaten forever but are always fine in the mornings. 

Where is the fire?

Im ready. 

Right now.

fear

>

You gain strength, courage, and confidence by
 every experience in which you really stop to look
 fear in the face. You must do the thing which you
 think you cannot do.

-Eleanor Roosevelt

my heart, my messes.

Why is my heart always flirting with disaster? Why must i allow myself just enough to keep me wanting more? Why do I set up the road blocks only to kick them over time to time, for quick glimpses of gratification? How is it possible to desire chaos so severely, while at the very same moments, my actions only serve to guard and avoid even the slightest of waves.


Why not step out of my own way? Allowing my heart to make a mess of things once in a while. Oh, to get so swept up in a mess that each breath gets tripped up in the throat and all the words to describe it get caught between tongue and lip. There is beauty is the unmanageable. Real, raw, unfiltered beauty to be experienced and enjoyed.


Is not having to clean up the debris and stand up for made mistakes worth never having the indescribable feelings and emotions that can undoubtedly make me feel absolutely alive? Perhaps my heart isn't the one flirting with disaster. Maybe its my not allowing the heart what it calls for that is the real disaster.

dreamy

please

Please dont talk to me. 

I fall in love too easily.

let me be

>

“Let me be something every minute of every hour of my life. Let me be gay; let me be sad. Let me be cold; let me be warm. Let me be hungry…have too much to eat. Let me be truthful; let me be a liar. Let me be honorable and let me sin. Only let me be something every blessed minute. And when I sleep, let me dream all the time so that not one little piece of living is ever lost.”
— Betty Smith (A tree grows in Brooklyn)

mad