A Journey or a Path

The way, oh the way. The way we use this phrase to start off not the detailing of our journey, but more of the 'tics' the journey has given us. The way we wake up next to someone new. The way we talk while we are chewing. The way we waste our money. And the way we live. It's not a way of describing a part of us, its giving our personalities a form of words to provide understanding of ourselves and others to the community that is our universe. For all we know, the aliens are detailing each and every hook-up into a warp-speed soap opera. With the general public today they'd need that extra swift quality they might just have to keep up with our over-caffeinated versions.
Sometimes we move on, to what seems to be a town without coffee, even though I had a great cup in the next town over the other day. The life we thought we were living, and the life we thought we would bring back with such enthusiasm to our home state, has slowed to and almost heart breaking rate. Our Northern socialite selves have been turned into, well, elves. We are deemed undesirable and our tongues grow brittle from the lack of alcohol. The drink we drank so greatly, that truly wet our whistle and let us slip every word we had always wanted to say. The sauce that gave us access to a world of new possibilities, more than we ever thought school would.
So much, I am required to speak of myself, even though I'd like to generalize myself within a population. I met so many people those nights I painted the town, even if it was the nice color of vomit. I lived those nights, and the awkward mornings, as a famous t-shirt states, were better than any of my boring nights. I wish there was some way I could get back there now.

Negativity

I don't go to California. I don't go to other countries. And when I'm here I don't feel any glamor with the things I waste my money on. But there, oh, there. So silly of a sentence is the only way to express it, the place farthest from home, feels the most like home. Well there, I am glamor, I am fame. North of my hometown I am beautiful and every dime spent, shines my stride. There I walk with confidence even when questioned. In this glorious Philadelphia, I, even the biggest fuck-up, is the most perfect thing accessorising its streets.
Even love fails me here or maybe I just came home with the suggestion that if I walked the same way I thought I did on Philadelphia's sidewalks, I would gain the same attention as I did in Philadelphia. I still meet my macking goals if you will. My first night hanging out with my best friend, who stayed, and her new group of friends, I saw someone and I said to myself, "by the end of the night I will be sitting next to him." He didn't notice me at first, or second glance. It took over and hour to start the conversation, but by no means was I going to act desperate. I got him with the music, even though the former "model," as they're called for Abercrombie and Fitch, did not look like he could listen to even pop punk. Later, I've found through my internet stalking (actually he friended me on facebook), that he has one of those perfect girlfriends, crazy I know. But even though it sucks, I still reached my goal. At least I am sucessful in my loss.

The Begining.

Yes I have moved on, but these days I am back where I started. A scary fucking place. I left here in August and I secretly hoped something would keep me away, but unfortunately I did not run in to any crime to keep me in Philadelphia. So I came back, and it was a bad feeling, just as all the times I had visited in the last months. It was the feeling of the weight of this whole town sitting on my chest, pushing out all the air from me, activating my asthma. Every little thought of changing my residency to one of a Philadelphian was pushed out by the fact I am young, and I don't even know if I'm right about this one, but I am pretty sure. I will have to sacrifice for the family I feel some moral obligation to, even if they feel little to treat me as if I exist. So I come back every holiday and share them in the most miserable ways. I lay on the couch bought with broken promises, ripped by my own aggression. With no common means of being a member of society here, no job, no car, and a meager 9 dollars in cash and 5.71 in my bank account, I wait for my future to come.