putting my own shit on blast.
self-reminder: airlines have weight limits on baggage.
so should i.
i ain’t feeling very swagged out lately. i got it back, got a glimpse; but dancing is tricky when you got a heavy heart. swaying your hips ain’t so easy when you’re in the fetal position.
who the fuck am i? i am stronger than this. better than this. better than this collective of experiences that keep fucking running me over like a god damn truck. i want my swag back. i wanna listen to biggie and rap out loud and not give a fuck what people think. i want to have sex with someone because they want me, are about me, care about me. i forget what that is like. (one of those things really ain’t like the others…)
heavy shit on blast, i’m done with getting real.
