I’m going to start this tumblr shit over. right now.
Three Doors Down
Backstreet Boys >_> <_<
Iron Maiden.
Good Charlotte.
WESTLIFE
FAHRENHEIT
My Chemical Romance :>
The Script + The Hoosiers
All Time Low
Jonas Brothers.
Stereophonics.
fast food rockers + dj casper. :’)
circa survive, i think.
Owl City :]
2PM :D!
Evanescence
Rascal Flatts. I win.
Take me with you, I start to miss you.
Take me home I don’t wanna be alone, tonight.
Do you see? My favorite lyrics right now;
Mariana’s Trench. Pretty dress. Wearing shorts tomorrow.
I don’t want to be this anymore. I want to be free.
But none of us really know true freedom.
Remember when we were kids.
Hay Britney Spears? Backstreet Boys? A.Carter?
N-Sync, Avril, Simple Plan. HayHayHayy.
Remember your first real crush?
I do. His name was Jesse. We still go to school together.
And I knew the kid when he was in diapers. Attractive.
Remember Powerpuff Girls? Ed Edd and Eddy?
Johnny Bravo? Courage The Cowardly Dog? Rocket Power?
Fuckin’ Rocket Power?
Remember the phases? Preppy. Goth. Emo. Hardcore. Scene.
Indie/Hipster? What the hell are we?
Remember the sayings? Remember the Music?
Fergie? Ludacris? What the hell?
Now it’s all. Backseat Goodbye! Regina! Mariana’s! Envy!
Remember your first kiss? Remember your first boy/girlfriend?
Remember the awkward holding hands. Hug. Phonecall.
Remember when you Got your cell phone?
Remember planning your wedding?
Your Career?
I’m making a list. And I’m not going to stop until I have 99 things.
And that’s how these lists are going to be now.
But one of the things I’m going to do is. What I miss about being a kid.
When it was, “mommie, I want this Barbie doll.” instead of, “mom, I want this camera.”
When it was, “Daddy, I want this stuffed animal.” instead of, “Daddy, I just want money.”
I miss it. I miss it all. But not enough to go back. Because I’m so close.
so..close to being alive again. You know? Three years.
I don’t even want to be a photographer anymore;
There’s too many people. So many fakes. I’m disgusted.
I still love it. But It makes me not want to be a part of it.
I want to write. I want to be Anne Rice. or Sandra Brown. I want…
I want you to love August. And Angelo.
I want you to connect with my Characters. I want you to.
Go through what my characters to. And God Damn. I want you to cry.
Laugh. Sob. Call up your lover. Tell them you can’t live without them.
Make you greatful. Make you guilty. Make you. Love.
Love. Remember?
We all have dreams. and here are mine.
Fake, Fake.
I sacrifice my time with you to be someone I’m not.
To be a lot that I can, and never will be. Fuck sin. We know that’s not what it’s about.
I feel fake. I feel false. I feel so far away from hope.
I’m not a photographer. I just think cameras are pretty.
I’m not an artist; I just like the feel of charcoal on paper.
I’m not a writer, I just like surrounding myself with fiction.
I’m not a lover. I’m just Taylor. I’m just me.
I’m not super pretty.
I’m not confident.
I don’t always have that pretty smile.
I don’t always want your compliments.
I don’t want to always be right.
Sometimes I go around looking for the fight.I want to scream at the world.
I want to cry to you.
I just want to be me. I don’t want this.
I want to be loved all the time;not when it’s convienient.
I want to live with dreams coming true.
I want to be the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.
But the one you can come to and complain.
I want to be able to spend hours telling you my life.
My secrets.
What I want.
Everything I want.
I don’t want to be mad. I don’t want to fight.
I just want to hold on. To whatever there is to hold on to.
Dreams. Ideas. Deep discussion. Love.
I want to curl up. I want to scream, and cry.
I want to throw a fit. I want to get what I want.
I want everything. And I realize how childish I must sound.
You know. I really don’t caree. Just. Let me be me.
Love me for me.
Tell me that being Taylor is okay.
Being from Missouri is okay.
Being fifteen is okay.
I don’t want to fake it anymore.
