Contrary to popular belief:

I'm complicated.
What it is one time PAC DIV.
My mind is a blood red brick house on Stone street
with thousands of rooms; blue mirrors,
the auroma of marajuana and music.
Cacoethes Scribendi. Get it tattooed on my wrist.
New Orleans native. My accent proves it all.
I am finally beggining to accept the fact that I am meant to be alone.
I am forever in the cycle of change.
I tend to treat serious situations like how I treat strangers.
I'm a starving writer and a dying phtographer.
No one will ever comprehend or understand.
When I die I want Bob Marley playing at my gravesite.
I am the rose that grew from concrete.



4.11.2010

Lord hear me.
I know I don't live right.
I'm selfish, every other word is a curse word.
I think about having sex more than I breathe.
(Even though I've never had sex.)
I like smoking weed sometimes and flippn' people the bird.
I'm confused.
I'm fucked up.
This year is where I'm gonna do the most growing up.
I'm 17 already. Damn life flies by.
I'm sure I have ADD.
I have a huge problem with authority.
I'll love music more than I'll love any nigga.
I wanna live in a world without rules or regulations, without strategiuc bound or system.
But in America, that's unrealistic.
Satan wants my name on his chest. Why can't he just mess around with someone else?
Why is my life always a fight and never a vacation? I'm 17 and I've been homeless, kicked out
two steps away from death and among other things.
It's just be and my red journal.
I'm just glad I'm alive. I'm not dead or in jail so I can complain.
I have a place to live, there's food.
Life could suck worse.
I'll just try to be pleased with how it is.