Just A Dreamer

I wish I was a real artist; I suck at putting things in a way that stirs heavy emotions in people. I’ve tried time and time again, but what comes out of me is complete gumbo.

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Giving In To The Rush

Let’s be real here: you’re a true New Yorker if you’re fluent in Rushing. Most of us go through our daily lives running around like anxiety-ridden, running-on-three-and-a-half-hours-of-sleep-and-two-cups-of-coffee mad men, all twenty minutes late to wherever we have to be.

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Dear Baby

At this point in my life, you are nonexistent. I can’t say that I don’t think about you, because that would be a lie. I can’t say that I haven’t thought about you for years, either, because that would also be a lie. I’ve thought about you before it was even physically possible to have you.

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Right Now

It’s Saturday night, and I’m writing from my mom’s kitchen while Caitlyn and Heinrich watch Rent in the living room. I’m watching them while Mom and Chris are at a freestyle concert with some friends of theirs. I’m typing this out with pretty blue nails, I’ve got a healing ear from a very recent piercing, and I’m still starstruck from having seen Lorde last night. 

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