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Is Your Life Like This?




the way my life always sounds like a song
the way lives are like soundtracks
the purple lights on my wall
the way that I love someone and hate myself for it because it’s going to be so painful,
making love to someone right here, and crying my eyes out in sex because my thoughts are with 		someone else
cheating on someone mentally, and the havoc it causes
all the stress and strain that I create for myself, and then how I complain about it
calloused fingers
smeared eyeliner
insomnia
cigarettes
stores in the mall that don’t sell clothing, they sell lifestyles, worlds to take you to
the way everyone always says they know how you feel...but they never do..
failing my driving test
muster cheese
the way the world is like diet soda
my floor serves as my closet
the people at city walk that were dancing in the fountain, and asked me to join.
our world is based on getting away from it
sleeping days and thinking nights
awkwardness of wanting someone so badly after so little time
my nature, and how I project all the things I’d like it to be...and forget or lose how it really is
the way no matter how much I ride my bicycle, there is one part of my thigh that never gets
	thinner
the difference between having respect for someone and showing it
Judy,getting a boob job... nothing could change how evil she is
The betrayal of Laura and Maurice, how can people predicate actions on illusions of 			revenge? Why do people screw me over?
The feeling of absolute insanity when  you’re trust in everyone falls through and you begin 
	to doubt yourself as well.
The loneliness in crowded streets...the empty feeling of summer laziness
the way I hate lying.......I HATE IT!!!!!!
How life is a series of cravings and a buffet line of addictions
waxing my eyebrows. I pay people to rip hair of my face with hot wax!
the way I hate poetry...so taxing and frustrating......the irony of literature.
the way I read quotes and wish I had said them
how the simplicity of childhood  is eaten away by the acidity of society. 
how’s it’s four o clock in the morning and I’m writing about writing...
how I wish i didn’t care what other people thought of me, but I do.
Coming home at three, and remembering at seven you forgot to put the ice cream in the 
	freezer. crap!
The way it’s 4:10 in the morning and I’m still writing about writing.
the way my foot has fallen asleep at the desk, mocking my bloody eyes.
How I sleep on a couch, just because.
The way I want to pee standing, for the sole reason that I can’t. 
The way macaroni and cheese tastes good no matter how often you eat it. 
My mom, sleeping on the couch...because she doesn’t want to sleep in her bed.
the way I live in Los Angeles, and wish I was anywhere but,
The moon, my car....windshield cracked in half, 
My dogma took the form of a baseball and hit my karma.
	aren’t I funny?
How we all were scared about Y2K...and then how stupid we all felt when nothing 			happened,
The arrogance in the assumption that we are the only intelligent life anywhere,
The arrogance in the assumption that we are intelligent,
How my list of poetic inspiration is much longer than I thought it would be,
How my list of idiosyncrasies personifies me. 

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Caressa