backyard crowing


homeless in france

i want to go to france and be homeless and do nothing but sit in churches praying and well-wishing and writing. i would be a "good" person like that, praying and praying and praying...and begging. i would become flawlessy fluent.

i would make an illegal, joyous, rough life from an existence that demands too much of everyone else's.

i would know the life of a street person, an addict, a churchgoer, a criminal. i would be on the other side of the rich people's dirty looks, brushing the dirt off my well-worn jacket.

i like to think i'm tough; i could handle anything solo except rape. maybe the churches would take me in at night; but you can be raped anywhere.

maybe i'm glamorizing homelessness. i probably have no idea how good i've got it.

i've held an unquenchable thirst to get out of wherever i am ever since i can remember. first it was my parent's house, then it was san antonio, now it's here.

to me, france is "the one that got away." i saw him twice on trips, and he was everything i'd ever wanted. but i didn't get to know him. i left him or he left me; neither of us gave each other a chance. he blows sparks in my memory now, a punt that refuses to die out, dwelling on what could have been.

how serious am i, you say?



i just want to learn--but not from a teacher. they seem to think they've got it all.

walk around. explore. watch. discover.

nothing that teachers say matters anymore, only you and your senses count. make your life in a way that intrigues and encourages others. don't be who they want you to be. don't be who i want you to be.

and don't listen to people when they say, "be yourself," because most of the time they mean, "be who i won't tell you i want you to be."

why is it that my best friend wants to spend the rest of her life in brownsville, residing with her parents?

what a strange fate that we should fall for each other.

3:08 am - Thursday, Dec. 13, 2007


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