this one's different, i promise.

there's something like freedom calling my name
and get your grocery bag in the back of the car
this ride's bumpy, not entertainingly
sometimes, more like, drainingly
p.s. the bag is for puking if you get nauseous
but i feel like i'm pretty okay under pressure
depending on the pounds per square inch
i'm referring to actual pressure here
no pun about losing weight because i think girls are way too focused on
losing more and more and more
when really
if we'd all just stop and decide it's okay that we're all not
perfect
and the fact that my ears are more lopsided then something that's really lopsided
doesn't matter
maddening if you think about it.
top models are airbrushed and what are we trying to prove?
again?
remind me cuz sometimes this gets hazy in my mind
but the haze drifts over the road and we're back to the top
that bumpy road that i'll slap the narrator if they call it 'life'
but it's so beautiful
some, iiiiiii, call it lots of other things depending on lots of things
but you know why my life's not working?
cuz i'm under this junk, white t-shirt, grease stains all over because
i can't figure out where each part goes and i'm
OBSESSED
sometimes with the details because sometimes i wanna make a show out of
'woe is me. i haven't figured it out yet. despair. agony!'
bull!
this holy spirit, i feel, is way underworked in my department
cuz i claim OCD before i submit to something i can't see but i HEAR
is great with people.
ask so many questions and stress myself out
KNOWING that i'm good with whatever
but for some REASON i don't care but DO to know
stupid.
satan's totally trying to convince me i'm someone i'm not
totally not
not in my job description
jesus
jesus
he gave me a new one
and um. i quit a long time ago, sooo.
jesus? yeah? ok let's go.