ars poetica

maybe i should start writing poetry and veer away from the prose. that way, it seems less like a catastrofuck when i open my literary mouth.

you know what i love about poetry? reading other people's poetry? i love that when they're in love, or when they're enthralled or heartbroken or any feeling at all, really, that you can see it in your heart. it's not written out for you like a patronizing gift, sure; you'll have to work a little for it. but you get to see that this boy is absolutely head over heels for some girl and he's all like what the fuck, i hate this and fuck fuck you have the prettiest cupid's bow smile i have ever seen in my entire life. 


maybe i write a lot, and through so many mediums, because that kinda shit is important to me. maybe i wanna be the type of person who has things to say about things, overflowing and never ever ever stopping. because you write what you feel, and i wanna feel everything. even if it's shit and angst and about boys who don't deserve it.

SO HEY, FOROUD. i think your tumblr is cool and so's your brain and half of it is resentful captivation of some girl but i like that you're not open at all but that you're open in that extent, about that thing, in that way. it's more than we get from, well, anyone these days, and it's not even half of the real you.

but i digress.

i have too many words everywhere, on facebook, gmail, twitter, blogger. i think too much, maybe. too many opinions and feelings on things. it gets a bit tiring, i know.

i'd rather some histrionic deluge flow through my fingertips than have nothing worth writing about. if you're not expressing, what are you feeling? and how worthwhile of an emotion is that?