The Javert Coat

My new coat is black and falls to my knees with a hole in one of the pockets. There certainly is something about it that makes me look like I'm chasing a bread/candlestick/former employee's daughter/said daughter's boyfriend thief through France, especially with my hair in a ponytail.  I love it.

Another good thing that's happened recently is Neko Astume. And that I've essentially finished that black and white acrylic self portrait I had to to for school. After it was done I would close my eyes and see grey strokes of paint.  Actually-

[An interruption for a prayer and moment of silence for every child who will choose the arts at gcse because they think it's the easy option.]

-though at this stage everyone is there because they want to do it. Suddenly everyone's so much better than me.

That might just be me being dramatic, however. I have my new year's resolutions- get a job, cut red meat out of my diet, get some proper writing done. There's a hovering, unsure, fourth resolution that right now I can't bring myself to say. I know exactly what it is, and if you've read any previous entries you will know as well. 

I hate hate hate keeping secrets, big secrets, I hate hate hate telling people about them, but above all I'd hate to be an ordinary hetero teenager, but I have to say I am because whenever I feel close to self acceptance some annoying kid on Facebook will post something about girls faking it for attention (though we all know its bitterness about a girl maybe not being attracted to you. we can see right through you) and then you take a step back.

It feels like being in the ocean, pretending to be a fish. Sometimes you look up at wistfully stay at the shimmering veil where the sun shines into the water. You can breathe on the other side, if only you could reach the surface. You don't really get used to drowning.

The End

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