HOME IS WHERE THE BUGS ARE ! ᵖᵒᵉᵗʳʸ

ladybug in a haystack

lately i have been trying terribly hard to be something no one has seen before but everytime i look back at myself i only see pickpocketed pieces of the people i love.

lately i have been thinking a lot about death, often late at night, often when all the world around me is asleep, often when i feel best myself. i have been thinking morbid, worrying, wondering what death is. i wake up and go about my day as if i don't think these things at night. i wonder if im alone or if everyone else in school, on the road, in the target beauty aisle, is worrying with me. if we're all scared of saying things we think are too much.

if we're all scared about being the downer when everyone else is too.

i stuffed all my worries into a sac and slung it over my shoulder, sewing each stitch together with a smile. i sent a letter for the first time in years yesterday, gave it to the post office, and sent it to mars. i am not the first person to do this, everyone is like me.

if you need me to go and exist in someone else's atmosphere, I'll do it if they'll have me. anything for you. everything for you.

everytime i look at myself, i look through to the other side. am i translucent to everyone or am i easy to ignore?

the psychic down by the middle school looked me in the eyes last week and put down her crystal ball. she told me that you aren't really missing if no one is looking for you.

i am in flux.