Confessions of a 5'1"

The desk is a mess. But an organized mess. Similar things are put together, the expensive things away from the edge - such as my camera- in case it might fall. My objects are laid neatly and, in the most part, spaced. My make up. Hair ties. Phone, tennis racquet. Snacks near the bed with my book, and a bag of candy. I know where my things are, despite the clutter. Because they're mine.

The world is a mess. One nobody can organize, except God. But He hasn't organized it. So it shall stay screwed up. Similar people attract each other. I see it everyday. Perhaps because of their background? Their ethnicity. Their style or preferences. They recognize these signs in others and feel more secure approaching them instead. They draw one another to each other. The more wealthier people tend to stay away from the ghettos. They prefer to surround themselves in luxuries where they think is safer. But nobody's safe, especially not from themselves. I don't know where anything is. None of these things are mine, but I am a part of this world.

But I don't have to be. I don't have to be. I don't. I can make my own world. However reality is whats still there even after I've stopped believing. Maybe if I leave it alone, it wouldn't get fucked up even more. I have my magazine to keep myself entertained and cranberry juice for the taste. Today I am content.