sometimes i think i am a thief, (i before e except after c; but spelling back then was overly simplified), and when i write, i slip in words from the music i listen to and feel just a little guilty and wish i could write things all my own just one damn time.

sometimes i think i am a traveler of the world, and when i read, i can feel my plane nosediving in and we will land and i will get pulled in and do things i've never done and feel things i've never felt and hear things i've never heard before and i will be amazed and never want to leave but then i do and everyday i will wish to go back.

sometimes i think i am a poet, (and a real one, not the one i see in the mirror that dreams of things far far too far away for her to reach) who writes and writes and hasn't a care in the world and writes some more and people read her writing and can understand who she is beneath all the make up she doesn't wear and thinks the words that come out of her pen are just as beautiful as the soul she is hiding.

sometimes i think i am a character in a great novel that sells millions and then people read the book and they think what, this is a horrible book and this character right here (and they point at me) is too whiny and too ugly and too stupid and too naive and mauve (because they all know someone named mauve) go get me another beer, i need to be drunk to finish this book and i have to finish this book because i paid nineteen ninety nine for this four hundred page long hunk of bull (which is exactly point zero four nine nine seven five dollars per page and that is far too much).

and also
sometimes i think i am a normal person too, but that doesn't happen very much.