11:25 pm on a wednesday

Not much going on. except all of the same thing. lists of names. in my head. me. with a basket full of loaves and fishes. but no faith. no idea how to make them multiply.

the masses need feeding. the masses need a miracle.

Fortitude. you wrote once that it is your favorite word. I understand why. You have Heaps of it. You are It. Ive never been challenged in this way...not like this...at least when I was growing up my mom worked for a while...but to come up with enough Fortitude...to solve this equation...is going to make me or break me.

And I don't even let myself dream of kissing. or dream of loving. or dream of getting one good fuck in a day or night...because it is all slipping away so fast.

See. Ive made my Decision allready. Ive Given Up. Ive Chosen that. Door shut. End of Story.

what a weak little shit I am.

I read exhaust's diary before starting my entry. And god. You're right. It is a Decision. It is a choice to Live In Pain. To Not Receive. It is all such garbage. Isn't it??? It is so self serving to say..."Im hurting all over...so You have to as well..."

god bring me love. god bring me home. let me have a chance to do it right. to know what it feels like. to know what something lasting feels like. I have never walked into a relationship where I wasn't sure the escape hatch was accessible. always know your way out. before they go. before they decide you aren't good enough. Just.Go. Yourself.

It's the wrong Decision. If Im going to do this. If Im going to evolve in this trial. A different Choice has to be made.

I wish I was a poet. I could melt your hearts. I could stir you and make you Feel.

I feel afraid that I won't be able to help my mom. and that something horrible will happen to her. and that my brothers and my sister won't care if something does happen. and that the reality of what my family is will crush me.

or maybe. If I just stopped choosing to bs myself. I could see...they don't abide...and therefore Im not obligated to serve them.

god. whatever. What.Ever.

nothing changes. I write only from the inside. So Im repeating myself.

I need canvases. Im frustrated without them.

I wish I was a poet. I could make you Feel.

see this the meadow in which the first hour was born..there ...there is where you are..and where you will be...until the end of the end...like a feather left behind..once the bird has taken flight...so go...and on. and on.

Peace