I am constantly inspired. Whether it's art, writing or fashion, I am always seeing something new in this world. I love it, there's difference between fashion styles and trends, stereotypes and artists.
Art: I love seeing new, different art, not same old, same old. There's well-known artists and amateur artists. Whether it's different supplies, styles or something else it's fun for me to see.
Writing: New genres, words...it's truly inspirational. Words, type/fonts, I love it all!I love short stories, novels, poems, fiction, non fiction and everything else!I am constantly finding myself read different things...
I don't have enough time to write about fashion but it constantly inspires me...
A jaded take. A busted rake. A winter wind from the brutal north. I'm sleepy to the bone. I take myself to the store to buy my specific brand of almond milk. Seagulls huddle on the tar, trying to soak sunshine warmth. I get my milk-like products and go Starbucks. Every optimistic minion is getting in my way. City planners ensure congestion. There's a homeless guy dozing off on a bench near the Starbucks bathroom. He has a coffee, so he's legit. I ask him if he's sleeping rough. He says he is. I ask him his name. I can't tell what he says. His teeth sabotage articulation. I ask him if he has plans for Thanksgiving. He says not now. I give him $12 and leave with my coffee-products. I get home and tell my wife all about him. We talk about how scary it is to approach homeless people and dream together about having homeless folks over for Thanksgiving. Then she says she loves me.
Round and round racing against eachother, fighting for the attention, the music gets louder as they go round the caresole, I am overwhelmed by fatigue but I cannot get off, the thoughts won't stop racing infecting my mind changing who I am, I have to choose but the choice is no longer mine, I can't stop what I have started, I won't stop it
On nights like these, I can almost feel those moments replayed. In my car, I speed down winding back roads, music blaring, trying to block out what used to be. Sadly though, the music isn't loud enough to drown out those dirty parts that make up the mess that is called me. That grief-stricken teen, the one who would have done anything to survive. Those are the things I can never quite forget. As the music gets louder and the roads get curvier, I sink back into who I used to be. But just for a moment. Suddenly, thoughts of those moments where I gave everything away seem to come flooding back in, leaving no room for breathe. That moment where I was trapped underneath him, terrified that screaming would make things worse. Then the moment where I trusted him to take those very large parts of me. Another moment where I thought I couldn't live and almost gave up. All of the moments where people told me I was crazy. The moments I lied and covered up the cuts. The moment where I got called into the office..because people were "concerned." The moment where I wished it would all just end. Then the moment where I took him back, then ran to the next "him." The countless moments I gave myself away, searching for the pieces that the first "him" stole. Every moment that almost broke me, and yet I am still here. Those moments together are who I am today. Though I am proud today, I am ashamed of who I used to be.
her wish upon a shooting star, her secret thought as she blew out the candles, her prayers in the bleak nights were all for him, he saw that same shooting star and shut his eyes tight, he wished harder than ever before for you see unlike her, he had already fallen in love alongside someone, he had already felt the touch one desires, he had already done what she wishes for and that is why on that shooting star he wished for it to end