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2007-02-17 01:26:15 (UTC)


I'm getting to the point where I just want to crumble up
the failed attempts and start again on a cleaner canvas,
like the artist that cannot to save her life summon up a
proud piece. Everyday drags along a little disorderly, and
this heavy, quickened atmosphere only makes me perspire,
lag behind, and feel incredibly dirty. And I begin to
wonder, if I am ever ready to begin leading the life of an
adult? I can barely breathe without setting things on fire
or in ruin. Then it cannot be done; the road to re-
discovery continues. Half-awake in class, regretting the
late night rendezvous of artwork and phone calls, all I
want to do is have my share of fun, but the bit becomes
procrastination and the beast takes flight. Pursuits I
take up, their euphoric effects last me days, but
afterwards leave me wondering if it's really what I
wanted. Is this what I seek in life? Am I living a lie? Or
am I just really tired?

Happiness, lonliness, confusion, yearning, fear, hope,
optimism, excitement, envy, and confidence roll at random
with the waves and each pang of the walls color my days
with a new hue and leave me , sometimes unwanted,
attendants. I wish to let go of my weaknesses, in order to
feel weightless and free, and open to the blowing wind and
the omniscient sky; it's essence. I wish to be one with
the wind and that tender feeling of oneness with the
universe. There is no lagging of the pace, and my legs
struggle to keep up that it drains all my energy. Soon,
there's no telling the real me through the fog, in the
mirror. Within the hoopla, will I lose myself?

Perhaps I shall pass through another depression that
mourns the stretch of mile defininig my passage and coming
of age, within this age. And the race has just begun, a
race to catch up, a life of attempted symphony, order and
peace. Today, what defines the peace? The adult that is
continually becoming me has yet to define.

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