days where I miss blue hair and piercings

Yes I am a Pink Hobo

do you ever wake up in the morning feeling like chocolate-cinnamon gelato in disguise as a vanilla cookie? that’s how I feel, bursting at the seams, struggling at my bonds. Soon I tell myself, soon, they won’t be able to tell you what you should and shouldn’t do. You can go on a walk at three in the morning, write until six am on your typewriter, because it won’t disturb anyone there hopefully. I can listen to Pink Floyd without my mother rolling her eyes. Wear my tribal jewelry out of the house without incurring an argument. Express myself and my political views. Be pissed off and impolite to people that I don’t like. I can be loud, opinionated, expressive, and strange.  I can, in short, be myself. soon. soon. soon. but it’s not soon enough…  Because I’m angry, I’m fucking angry, and not at certain people, at this whole fucking world. At this system, at this series of rules, and hoops, and unspoken requirements. And why must I? because I simply must, none of my questions can free me, they only make it harder to follow. and if I had stayed in the USA,  I would be free right now, maybe getting my medical marijuana grower’s license in California, or Colorado, or Washington. Maybe I’d be bumming off of my art friends still, or maybe I’d be still a Freegan. Maybe I wouldn’t have given up what I believed in for some deep seated need to explore… Would I have been happy in that life, or does this one merely seem intolerable because of the numerous strains on my expression? I don’t know. Never will. My old friends are estranged. I don’t know my sisters even. I knew them as children, but that’s not who they are, and I don’t know if they’ve changed, and in which direction and what caused it. I wasn’t there. They were gone to school, or disinterested. It wasn’t until I went missing that I seemed to fucking matter in their lives. I didn’t want to be found.  And I wanted to travel, but I needed money, I couldn’t get a good enough job to get enough money because I needed a degree. I wanted to join the Peace Corps- you need a degree for that too. I wanted to live in the UK with my boyfriend, but you need a degree for that too. I wanted to publish a novel, but very few get published without a degree. So I have to go on my hind legs and dance for those that ask for it, and for what? Because I have to bow to their wishes to get what I want. Fuck them. fuck this system. Why won’t they let me just be what I am?



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