ready

i live in a little box, take the first left onto 52nd street. stop once you pass the basketball hoop. yeah, that one, right there.

and even smaller yet, i am confined in the four walls of this room. sleeping, dancing, sometimes updating this thing: it's what i do best here. it's about all i do here.

i am so ready to leave this little place. i don't think i will ever really grow up until i am away. i am surrounded by all my old wounds, old memories that live in these walls, and i am still nursing bruises that i should have left behind a long time ago.

PS: there is nothing better than socks right out of the dryer.