Mein Kampf

After a month (or two) hiatus from the writing scene, I have decided to re-immerse myself into my once-passionate activity. I've gotten very tired of the lack of grammatical structure and exquisite spelling that I could at one point produce without any fore or after thought. This used to just come to me. I used to be able to create something beautiful without my struggle. I've gotten very tired of all of my "used to"s and excuses for why I don't feel as intrinsically fluid with my words. I am still a writer. I am still a person with a story to tell. My story shouldn't be hidden by my struggle.

meine Geschichte/ mein Kampf

I've recently decided that I am a German princess. This wasn't fabricated out of my own will to be royal or majestic, but from a friend, N.S., calling me this as an insult. I was bratting around like I normally do, and he dubbed me "German Princess". I hate girls. I hate girls and frills. I hate girls and frills and their gaudy, whiny shit. From this title, I have not obtained a feeling of righteousness, but a loathing for myself. A loathing for my frills. A loathing for my frills and my gaudy, whiny shit. Regardless of my feelings, I am a German princess. I sit in my castle crying for attention; for a friend to care and a life to love. I wear my tiara as I gallop on my high horse, hating and envying these lowly people around me, hating myself and my existence more with every stride.

mein Hass/ mein Leben

Once upon a time, I dreamt of Polynesia. In transition from Florida to Oklahoma, I told my friends that I wasn't coming back; that I was heading west and west and west until I hit Easter Island and met the descendents of the Long Ears, if there were any left after the Short Ears. I planned to become one with them, to allow them to mark me with a free-form tattoo that I would wear proudly as a badge of my travels. I would speak their language, wear their clothing, know their culture. Yet here I am, in Oklahoma, drained of my drive and my fighting force that once so boldly shoved me out of my home and west and west and west. I have gone nowhere, though I know there is time for change, meine ändern. I know that if I can feel myself, as factitious and remote as that feels, if I can just stop glancing up and re-reading.

Mir. Meine. Mich Selbst.

This is my step one, I don't know two. I haven't got a third or fourth, but with time I will expand.