Wednesday, February 16, 2011

When I Cry it's for

Home, but I never feel safe, and I only get to be home for minutes at a time either sleeping or scrubbing this obese body. My self image makes me a stuttering idiot. Fuck that, I need to work on my communication skills. Until then I'll dream of nights under the sky in New Mexico with coyotes howling, and coffee ready for breakfast. A porch with room for a rocking chair and conversations of future adventures. I'll dream and work, and try desperately to shed myself of this fat ass getting a free ride. I want to be thin, I want to be free.

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