i used to hide under nice girl sweet girl prove it to you

piles of shit

(books about meditation, pretty coloured arts and craft drawers, excercise equipment, seventeen types of herbal tea. all of these things 'meant' something about me.

I could proove it. I had the STUFF.)

(I used to hide under confused and needs your approval to function girl

i sued to hide under piles of shit)

i used to hide under ghosts of the past, never-ending longings, holes in my soul piles of shit

I used to hide under piles of procrastinated decisions, things i couldn't let go of, fears that whored me out to any guy that would be nice to me for five fucking minutes

I used to.

And now i look at those piles of books filled with other people's ideas, other peopl's visions of my salvations - heck, even my own misguided quest for perfection - or, some sense of normalcy, i can't be sure which, - and i know that these are not answers, there is no hope in hiding.

these are just piles of shit