I love to play with words.
Out of the AIR, I draw words, powers, feelings, oxygen, and other elements. Whatever I pull from my life- falls and fails more quickly than anything I know. Maybe I'm just a poor example of what life is. Maybe I'm a whiner, a brat, a bitch. All the things people have told me I am. *the thinking kind of silence*
If I'm all the things people have told me I am, I am also powerful, loveable, wonderful, smart, beautiful, talented. I should be a frickin' rockstar. But even though I'm not (a rockstar that is), that doesn't mean I'm not all the things I've been told. All these words and more.
I don't know if I'm pissed, or if I'm trying to remain pissed. I don't know if I'm trying to cheer myself up. I do know I pulled all of this out my ass and hence the title.
But maybe the title is double edged. I meant to pull an "angsty" poem or story out of my butt so that I could have proof this day happened. Instead, writing off the top of my head has made this proof that I'm still here even though this day happened.