There is to much to know how to say.
Should I start with my birth? There have been many.


Home. Studio. Mindy. Adam. Clutter. Smells lived in. (because honestly they never leave.)
Books that are not read. tv always on. bad cabel reception. Pained laughter.
Boiled Carrots. Unflushed toilet. Collection of Cds.
Records. Patti Smith on the wall. Nervous rats. Begging for foor.
Stacks of boxes. Hard to navigate. Hot wheez in packaging.
Dead lighters. Books of matches. empty cigarette cases.
Cell phone chargers. Full coffee pot. endless supply of creamer.
Mother, the voice of a child. Adam, the voice of an enemy.
Emily- the voice of tried indifference. She checks her phone.
She confids to her space. With headphones. escapes in words.
Cant turn the music up loud enough, to tune out agrivating speach.
Flush out the frustration, her nostrils flare, tries to explain why everything feels wrong.
Seeking comfort in rutine. in solitude. and her encounters with the outside world.
Reading "Everything here is the best thing ever" by Justin Taylor.
Scince the last trip to the food bank- she eats a whole grapefruit at 2am like clockwork.
Her empty sketch book, pens with no ink. A black backpack her grandmother bought,
before she dropped out of school. She thinks she might be happier enrolled at the college.
Even highschool, but staying in Lynnwood. the insanity of her mother.
Makes emily shudder. clastrophobic, the fear of being stuck. becoming the lunitics that surround her.
They should all just cry, together forever. But no one can cry. the three of us are in a miserable drought.
I am to strong for tears. My mother overcome by denial. perhaps Adam is oblivious to his need.
He says he is content around chaos, so he must feel right at home.
Emily is learning to be the same way. the knowlage that she must be strong,
forces her to be strong. Everyday is a struggle, and satisfies the need for survival.
a rodent is always in fear for its life, clinging to scraps of food-
its promise of another day. spent searching. This is what I am.
Always on gaurd, with set plans to prove that I am still living.
I bumb cigarettes from everyone I encounter.
I light one always before speaking.
I ask for more bus money than I need.
I go to raves, and I flirt to remind myself I am wanted.
I have no other obligations, but put life or death importance on these things-
Obtain something to smoke, and money. becuase money is freedome.
my momentary ticket away from Lynnwood.
RAVE
because I need the release.

A place to be free. Anonomously "Peaches".
To converse with people who have little clothing and bright fuzzy things to hold.

A back massage. lightshow. a feeding of pills.

gift of colorful plastic beads to remember them by.

Although their name already forgoten.

To feel the neon lights, be rumbled by Dubstep and beats.

To catch a glimpse of Luvr.. my safety person.

Exchange digits with those who ask. some who dont.

Enjoy the ride home, and anticipation for the following weekend.This is my life. Probubly the life of many.Fragmented. Pessimistic. Holding onto stability digused as something else.