what have I learnt about life?
that I know nothing at all about it, sometimes.
its beautiful, a dazzling multicolour-strike-of-lightning that stabs past my chest, spearing all my veins in a vicious cacophony 
stacked up, fluttering and still lub-dubing 

God really makes it beautiful
I dont say it enough. i dont feel it enough. but I want to, I need to, and I am pulled back when I run
I don't even read, but the gentle tugging, I can't resist. its seductive
and soothing,
mostly, love.

even if I wanted to not believe in You, and sometimes, I really do
I can't
you're as clear as day. the knot in my shoe. and yet paradoxically, so hard to pin down and understand
my greatest wish is for You to be understandable. but you aren't, yet
so I'll just settle now for You being someone, something, that is definitely Not not real

i don't feel emo all the time, but somehow, I think having a change of country has given me an increased amount of misery
not in depth but in length. in an insidious, undercurrent type of way.
I find myself constantly comparing, and feeling down, not good enough, like a square peg, like whatever used to hold me up on the clothes hook of 'identity' suddenly slipped up 

why do I feel this way? I feel backward looking. unassertive. escapist. and slightly decrepit.
I wish I could type exactly how I feel, but its hard to explain. because it's not always there, but bottled up and/or just simmering - like a plant that only grows when you stroke it. but sometimes, my powers of denial take a beating and I end up with a blogpost like this.

i wish I could be as positive as everyone else who has ever moved here. that the grass smells greener, and the friends are great, and that every breath I take enriches me
but I feel more fear than anything. and I miss things more than I admit. sometimes, I feel like a 56 and a half year old on a hormonal tipping point. sigh.

the military girl in my head

wears mongolian armour (the semi-full works), has her hair in a single ratty pigtail
looks unbearably chunky, one arm bulked up unbelievably and the other riddled with atrophy. wasting away, i think ill give that left side 3 fingers. 
has a roman cape. tatty with holes & junk, and because my head is into the supernatural bit, when it wind blows it out it morphs into a semi-in-reality taloned not-sure-how-many-heads beast, gotta spend more time with my psyche to figure that out. it weighs her down; makes scritchy scratchy noises in the snow like a playful puppy

she patrols the borders of the now-gone mongolian empire, by foot
and she was born through words, the last life-shaking pleas from a thirty-something year old weed of a mongolian soldier
raspingmuttering again and again into his helmet during the final rain of gunpowder and dust (now im pretty sure im historically incorrect)
his blessings to his infant daughter, who didnt exist because it was his mother-in-law had sent him one last priceless white lie.

but strangely, she doesnt wear a helmet
alot of the time, sits there, eyes staring into space, because words aren't enough to make a soul
and when animated - stays as the remnant of a that man's view of a child. seen but not heard. not seen and not heard.

she is here to keep me company while I practice drawing human figures, lol


-

having a dream to keep, and yet never being able to close that box tight 
everytime, going back to it - it seems different
maybe the light changed it somehow; made it older, dropped a few feathers, got a tan
a little stroke different from the rose tinted one you knew
with more shadows and highlights

and more questions;

you set about finding a key.

 sitting here with a full stomach and generally, feeling quite at peace with myself
which I haven't had alot of lately. 

song of the moment! breakeven - the script

and a cool tumblr: stop hating your body
which every girl (and boy) should look at, because I think everyone has a little bit (or a lot) of an issue with their bodies sometimes
and we need other people and more people and more people to tell us
and finally, ourselves to tell ourselves
that we're fine, even though we know that deep inside already!
it was one of the things that got me back on my feet after a rough mood patch

<3

maybe we're all born with vices, a (un)prized set of our own - sitting pretty, in a glass paneled vanity in a little dank room in the basements of our hearts. like the silver spoons your grandmother only ever takes out once a year, except they move

they inhale and bloat up the spaces in our moments (they call this worry). they go scritch scratch down our throats and then deep-dive, burying themselves as a hot coil in the pits of our stomachs (they call this guilt). they grip the parts of us that we never know could hurt - and we scramble, thrash, not knowing why (they call this insecurity). 

 God, help me be brave
and thank you
for being the love of my life.

one great thing about buying designer tea lattes
it taught me that peppermint tea + sugar = candy canes exploding in your mouth

being a freshman is like what it is
literally, fresh
like raw meat waiting to be licked by the flame
that glowers erratically in its bed of charcoal
tossing, turning
restless

to feel yourself slathered with