This is some of my writing.. I feel like this is a good place to share it.
I'm running out of options. I've literally come to a point where it's like, "Shit I'm screwed. I guess I'll write a memoir at 17". That's the logical course of action, right? Recently, and by recently I mean last week, I was arrested. Also, just this year I dropped out of high school. So, while everyone I formerly went to school with continues to get their diploma, apply for college, and prepare for adulthood.. I'm thinking "My dear lord, when the hell did I get so damn old". You see, turning 18 in America is a grand transition into the illusion of freedom, when really it just means that excuses won't work anymore, and that if you're a trouble maker - you're not just gonna get a slap on the wrist. I'm not a bad person. My ideology is that I know what I need to know, I know where I want to go, and the hoops that society wants me to jump through are for the idiots that don't realize, reality is on the ground. I have a lot of problems, there's no denying that, but I function and without the shit there wouldn't be bliss. I'm not laying here on my couch at 10:07 AM on a Thursday to write about the pain and suffering I've endured. This is going to be a story - and honestly it's mostly so that I don't forget this moment in time, because right now I understand less and more of me than I ever have. One day I'll either be able to say fuck, good job Amber, you did it - or not.
I am pretty fucking young still, but you know how time is. When you're in the present, all of your past feels like it just goes on endlessly. I mean I guess that feeling is truly determined on the extent of your memory. I remember most things, the things that really hurt are what I recollect with the most vivid details. But there are parts of our lives that we don't have the ability to remember, like the first years. I've never met my dad, nor do I really want to, I think. Anyway, shit hit the fan when I was still a baby and we bounced. The story goes...
TO BE CONTINUED...
I'm running out of options. I've literally come to a point where it's like, "Shit I'm screwed. I guess I'll write a memoir at 17". That's the logical course of action, right? Recently, and by recently I mean last week, I was arrested. Also, just this year I dropped out of high school. So, while everyone I formerly went to school with continues to get their diploma, apply for college, and prepare for adulthood.. I'm thinking "My dear lord, when the hell did I get so damn old". You see, turning 18 in America is a grand transition into the illusion of freedom, when really it just means that excuses won't work anymore, and that if you're a trouble maker - you're not just gonna get a slap on the wrist. I'm not a bad person. My ideology is that I know what I need to know, I know where I want to go, and the hoops that society wants me to jump through are for the idiots that don't realize, reality is on the ground. I have a lot of problems, there's no denying that, but I function and without the shit there wouldn't be bliss. I'm not laying here on my couch at 10:07 AM on a Thursday to write about the pain and suffering I've endured. This is going to be a story - and honestly it's mostly so that I don't forget this moment in time, because right now I understand less and more of me than I ever have. One day I'll either be able to say fuck, good job Amber, you did it - or not.
I am pretty fucking young still, but you know how time is. When you're in the present, all of your past feels like it just goes on endlessly. I mean I guess that feeling is truly determined on the extent of your memory. I remember most things, the things that really hurt are what I recollect with the most vivid details. But there are parts of our lives that we don't have the ability to remember, like the first years. I've never met my dad, nor do I really want to, I think. Anyway, shit hit the fan when I was still a baby and we bounced. The story goes...
TO BE CONTINUED...