Artist heart

Part of me still feels like I'm sixteen. I'll be twenty next August but it doesn't seem right. Am I really that old? Twenty years on this planet, and not a damn thing to really show for it? Maybe others feel that way too. But most of the time, I feel alone in everything. I'll be twenty. Lots of people already know what it's like to be twenty. Then the year after, I'll be twenty-one. It's like there's not mystery after that. There's no fun in illegally drinking alcohol. I'll be able to buy and consume it in bars, restaurants, wherever, I guess.

Is there a real difference between nineteen and twenty-one? If so, let me know. I need to start preparing...

I need to grow up.

I've come to the realization that college is such bullshit. I don't know what I wanna do, or who I wanna be. I wanna be taken care of and if that upsets your little feminist heart (I can only guess that any readers I have are mostly females), I do apologize. I wanna be an artist, I wanna draw, create, sculpt my feelings into things.

But it's a useless degree. I am no Picasso.