without it

this is how i know. its one of those things that always catch me off gaurd

i love going, i love dancing. but everysingle time. i underestimate the feeling it gives me. sometimes i think the passions waning. but thats because im thinking to much. i stop and then i realise how free i feel after

its like, everything is so simple.i dont have to push down my feelings, because they dont bother me. its like a bubble around me, around my heart. protecting me. everything is so bright and for a moment, one moment, im intouch with my whole body, my whole mind. i feel so open and like everything inside me is connected

i can breathe, i can smile, i can stand.

but then it fades. thats why i know. i need dancing. i will never ever be me without it, never.

running away

"my dog has run away"

that happens to sooooo many people, but i mean. i wonder what the dog was thinking. i wonder what was actaully runnign through the dogs head as they just walked out the gate, down the road and not go back.

was the dog really uber depressed. were they sitting in front of the gate and thought

"fuck it" just leave. were they absolutly and utterly sick of their life, sick of the smothering, sick of the people, sick of the feelings? was the only thing they wanted was to escape? to start anew, new people, new places,a new outlook. to simply just walk out and never look back.

or was the dog just really bored? just sitting in front of the open gate and thinking "look, there's another world. no one is holding me back. not at this moment. no one is grabbing onto me, screaming at me to stay. im the only setting my limitations."

so then they just trotted of into a more exiting adventure

yes i wonder, maybe its a case of dogs are stupid and just decided that the bone across the road smelt good, and then got distracted.

even so,

i wish it was that easy

garbage

well. this week. where to start. i could go backwards because, you know, thats the logical thing to do.
my goal this weekend was to rearrange my room, i was so exited at the prospect of being happy that i would feel obliged to return sleeping in my bed, as opposed to my rugs.
NINE different ways i have movd my room around. NINE. is that even possible?? i got rid of two thirds of my books, burnt DVDs, stupid little annoying things that have no name. and my bookshelf. that was successful- throwing things out. this week was good for disposing of garbage .
i worked today. that was horrible. i hereby cease to undertake any sort of paid labor, until next sunday when i need to go back to the hellhole that is beechworth bakery and earn more money. but i am going to quit. when that man from the cafe rings me. which he never will, but still. kylie,(superviser) was shouting and stressing, and matt (manager) was telling us that "thats just not good enough mate" in his voice which sounds like he has a million bees up his nose. and even Bev was telling us that she didnt want any dishes when she comes back.
i look on the floor and wonder if the trays and tubs FULL of dishes, are out of her veiw.
i moved my room around again. and i may be happy with it, maybe. i dont know anymore
what i do know, is that i have to hip hop out of here. yes im sixteen, yes thats a very young age to move out. but i cant continue living under this roof with these people, and when things fall apart again. i do not want to be here.
i cant even remember what else has happened this week.
why?
because it has been a shit non-eventful week. and it bcomes bad when non eventful doesnt mean "boring"
but the same depressingness day after day.
im supposed to be going to a french seminar in the city tomorrow. but i mean two and more hours on public transport, then getting back at about six? no way. and i have that MASSIVE history book to start. i did a page last night, put it aside and thought. tomorrow
i swear everytime i look at it it gets bigger. but i suppose i willl start it tomorrow. hopefully
and james hasnt called.
lets hope this week may be a bit more, um. productive?
oh wait, my mother and father are meeting up with maria and the psychiatrist. about me
wont that be lovely
oh shit.

:D

all i want

oh my gosh, do i want to move out? CAN i do this?

all i want to do is dance, ever, thats all i ever want, i can feel it i can see it. but its not here

and i need it, all i want to do is to dance.

stay with me

i went through a phase, where all i read, were book that were set as diaries
it started with the adrian mole phase, and even though i thought it was his pimple on his chin that he was measuring, and then led to everyother book set that way in existance.

so i started a diary, and for years it was just me, trying to make my life sound like it would be in a book, comical, but in a good way, describing things intricately and just using a tone that was not me

and then i began diaries that were actually me. but looking back, they weren't truthful. i only documented things that i thought were diary worthy

and then i started inly using it to record my food and calorie intake.

and then i thought, id start a blog. my own, secret blog. and my first one was like those early diares, trying to sound a certain way, writing thigns just for an entry. then through some act of god i lost the password.

so im making a pact. thig blog is me. my life, my chaos, the way i want to write things down.

my councellor, no on reffered to as maria, told me to keep a diary, but i just cant write on paper anymore, my brain whirrs to quickly and it ends up reading like a dogs breakfast

so i suppose, stay with me. as i try to find my feet again, and now im talking about with life.

knight

this is the first peom ive written in more than a year

and i used to write a lot

this is the first return of my lost inspiration

which i think has left me again

The armour on his back, weighs him down to the ground
He scrambled along, feeling pain without sound
He climbs down from his horse and his legs feel so weak
Suddenly his sole, his heart is so meek
He picks up his shield, his scabbed his sword
And suddenly his fingers refuses to hold
The sun hurts his eyes, and stains his skin
And the cold rips through and tears every part of him
The door feels so far, the arch feels so tall
He could just, fall, lay, sit and curl up in a ball
Rest your head on the grass, dear soldier and knight
Feel the soft tickle, the tingle and the warm gentle light
No worries, no voices, no harmful screams
Just shut off, and listen to the drift of your dreams
People will look, people will see
You’re breaking down but you don’t need me
Because you’re tired of fighting, you’re tired of this
Exhausted and pushed to the bottom abyss
You don’t want to do it, you cant soldier on
Because this corruption, this shit, its gone on for too long