There is more to give than coffee-stained silence and second-hand lines stuttered apologies and sloppy rhymes— to reach the narrow confines of our hearts.
I often say the word fuck when I get really stressed and feel that the world is unfair. It gives me a sense of calmness knowing that I have managed to do something evil by cussing. In those moments, I am no longer a caged bird. So I say, fuck, fuck, fuck. Goodbye, goody-goody me.
Solitude is good.
I need space; the tightness in my ribcage wouldn’t let my heart pound.
I lost my free-writing notebook in which I’ve written some personal entries. I don’t know what to feel, to be honest.