Kick Drum Heart


This & who I used to be, don’t matter much at all to me

Sometimes I think in pictures. Sometimes it’s words, sometimes in half-jumbled sentences with excited images tumbling one over another through my mind.

It’s been the words, the past few days. I’ve just been in a writing mood lately. The colors are there, too: vivid, bold, and frenzied. Happy.

That’s weird. By all rights, I should be stressed and angsty.

But I’m happy. I’m happy that I don’t have to worry about school: even though I still have to catch up on my piles of English and economics. Plus there’s that yearbook thing. I’m happy that I don’t have to fret over boys: the only one I’d seriously considered for a while has found a skinny skanky girl.
That should irritate me. And it doesn’t.

I think spring is coming. That’s the only possible solution. It really just doesn’t make sense for me to be so thrilled with life, and want to write all the time.

And this is without coffee.

So I’m confused, but I’m overjoyed about it. Go figure. It’s crazy, and I love it. Thanks, God.