Lovely Finds!

Yay! Black, leather ankle boots!

...and... Granny boots!

Go to Etsy.com and search for anything vintage. *tear*

That Nice, Toe-Tapping Feeling

I sit here. Such a wonderful day. I close my eyes and feel the vibrations under my skin. I want to sing a long, and I do. Well, sort of. My blood dances in my veins, and my toes start tapping.

Life beckons me, waving its finger so. I close my eyes and grin. The world is crazy. Crazy, crazy. My thoughts smile in my mind, running around excitedly, giggling, sighing. I find it harder and harder to sit still.

I want to know, I want to know, I want to know! What are the plans You have for my life? What are they? There are so many possibilities!

It does not matter what it is, though. I want to do it. I bob my head, side to side. I’m sure there’s music playing somewhere. ‘Cause I can hear it. I hear it, although I can’t distinguish every note or instrument. It’s all just kind of pooled together. Like a swirling vat of melting crayons in a pot. I stand and stare, eyes wide and shining. A strange kind of beauty.

It reminds me of me. Of what You’ve done with me. Taking this and taking that, some of You and some of me, and mixing it all together so that we may become one. So that I may become beautiful, like You.

I smile. It was time for a nice, toe-tapping feeling.

Truth Is What I Want.

You tell me I’m wrong. That I’m young and naive. Just wait and see, you say, some day you’ll think like me. You express your beliefs, a thousand contradictions. You talk and talk until I’m dizzy, trying to keep up with your game of chutes and ladders. You pretend to argue with me. But, truthfully, our discussions are nothing more than disguised monologues. Will you finally take the earplugs out and listen? Will you stop picking and choosing what words you like and which you do not, regardless of their truth? You call me prejudiced and judgmental. But is it really such a bad thing to want the truth and nothing but the truth? You say I’ll be like you some day. I’m sorry but, as much as I care for you, I don’t want to be like you. I don’t want the truth to be made up by me, composed of only that which sweetens my ear. I want to have the certainty that truth does not come from me. I want to know that truth is bigger than me, a broken, crippled girl. You can decide for yourself, but at least practice what you preach. Don’t be naive. Listen and look. The truth is evident and up in your face. It would be almost vulgar to ignore it.