What Risks Does Having Dreams Pose, If Any? Free To Let One's Thoughts Stray And Get Lost. But That's

As strange as it may sound, transferring poems from one place to another is like moving a nearly complete home to an overly cluttered lot. Then again, my poetry is overly cluttered, and clunky, hackneyed and stilted have been called.

𝐓𝐡𝐞 “𝐎𝐝𝐝” 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠—

I don't belong. I don't belong, belong. Do I not belong? Am I an alien? Do I not belong in this world?

Despite not asking the question, I gaze to the skies for answers. And yet, I wonder...what? Do I belong or am I meant to feel this? Feel what? This. This...being?

The intense chewing has bruised my lips, numbing my fingertips, causing my eyes to widen and my soul to awaken. Am I not bound to this life, to this experience, to this world that has been shoved upon me. Like compacted snowballs. Do I belong here?

I could walk the tightrope of mounting cathartics and pave a new way. I could even go down the path of death, and my mind has ever so carefully migrated to that area.

This strange feeling. These strange feelings. Odd feeling, this, be I, me, the feeling. Does anyone...anyone have answers? Do I belong here, there, anywhere? Am I needed, wanted, loved, or appreciated? Do I belong...?

And where am I? Where do I commence...do I culminate here? Hurt and broken? Believing that it was something when it wasn't. I'm to blame. I put myself in a position to be facilely hurt...suppose I go back? I'd like to think I'd make different culls. But that'd be too facile. Nothing left to do but cry and move on.

Believe it or not the stinging sensational pain will fade and I'll be okay. Maybe not...now or next week; but I'll be okay. Insanely broken but better pieces I suppose.

Insane. I'm insane for the things I believe in.

It's the likelihood of being caught that creates "danger." Unless you believe that whatever you do will enrich your life, there is no true danger.

If by chance... Chance at all my emotional wheel of competency fails me... I will be able to say I tried.

Shall I fail at this or that, whether I fall into something or not— I tried. On my sleeve my heart is. In my mind thoughts are. On my heart? I'm unsure.

I tried...

I tried...

And maybe I cried but that's life.

And don't forget folks, that's what you get folks...

—Angie 💋

“I’ve learned people are made of layers and sometimes you have to wait until the next one is revealed.”

— @sixwordssayitall

—3/30-’

The tension battle within oneself is hard to comprehend. How does one separate themselves from metaphorical clips of things that haven't occurred yet? Is this all anxiety-ridden? Has the subconscious taken over?

I believe it is consciously acceptable to be happy and understand unknown emotions. Naiveté is damaging. Being happy implies accepting naiveté. It is not comforting at all. I rather believe that being naive is damaging.

So right now, I have no idea what to do, but I'm still happy. I don't know where to go, but I'm still happy. I am in the abyss of ‘it hasn't happened...but it might’—but I'm happy. I'm happy that I can acknowledge where I am.

Xoxo— Angel.

—Solo—

III

It changed into Conan, Leno, Letterman, Stewart— all the late night shows wanted her. Even good Morning America, wanted Angelina on their show. And for what? GIA had emerged as an overnight success. HBO clearly had executed nicely, as did she—a Golden Globe nomination; and that was nothing to sneeze at. Matters were truly starting to pick up voltage with her career. Plenty of new projects sat on the horizon. Some scripts and films Angelina had fawned over for a couple of years, unsure if it honestly it matched her. Lisa Rowe; Girl Interrupted, actually was one that seemed to suit her quite well. But then came such movies as the Bone Collector, Pushing Tin, Gone in 60 Seconds— all of which made her uneasy. some of the “potential” cast participants were all stars she had watched on the large screen. Idolized even. Now, to be performing alongside them...become like an in depth fever hallucination of some type.

She and Julia acknowledged their way to the cramped crowd, that waited for them outside the hotel. Angelina was continually dazed to visualize fans—actual people who were there for her. It was insane to her. Her free hand fished the packet of cigarettes out her pocket, fitting to light one—then the bustle begun. Shouts for autographs, pictures, the whole nine. Angelina pleasantly submitted, satisfied and starstruck herself. With the unlit limp smoke in her mouth she marked a few autographs.

“Angelina!”

“Angelina! Are you and Johnny Miller back together?”

“Angelina! Are you going to do the movie with Denzel Washington!”

Going through as many autographs as she could, Angelina shook off the questions. “I don't really know...” She wasn't insensitive or mean--honestly, she didn't know. With the last autograph, she granted the person who wanted a kiss. That certainly revved up the crowd even more, causing both she and Julia and rest of their beefed up security team to laugh.

Waving to the rest, Angelina got into the SUV, buckled in, and lit her cigarette. Julia looked on with an unpleasant expression. She hated cigarettes. The fading brunette hair, actress raised an eyebrow as her lungs inhaled the nicotine. “Find me something better and I'll quit on the spot.”

Some of that statement was truthful. Angelina had done well for herself not to take drugs over the past two days—not that she could. With the Golden Globe nomination, the squeeze and the end of the film, she didn't have time to do her extracurricular business. And quite honestly she didn't miss it. That wasn't to say that Angelina hadn't taken up quite the chainsmoking—habits, but everything was a working progress.

Angelina always came away from meetings with certain executives emotional. Otherwise, there would have been no particular reason for her to be at a hotel. It wasn't in a negative sense she felt emotional- but a sense in which she was actually doing THIS. This—meaning: really picking scripts, having producers, directors, writers actually want her. After all, she had signed on to do the next few films. Taking the cigarette from her lips, she let the smoke escape through the crack in the window; a smirk of satisfaction rested on her lips as she did.

The car ride had only been several minutes. A quiet ride between she and Julia—no need to really exchange any words. As the SUV pulled into her driveway of her darkened house, Angelina cursed softly noting and perceiving she hadn't left a light anywhere in the house. She only hoped Yogi— hadn't caused any damaged or had been damaged himself. Yogi, was her new bestowed upon her puppy! Her brother James had randomly given him to her. Now, the four legged cutie was apart of her life. It was dark and the klutz she could be...it wasn't a good set up, as she made her up the steps of her porch. With her purse slung over her shoulder, shopping bags nibbled at her fingertips, and her journals pressed against her chest the actresses jogged, carefully up the rest of the stairs to her front door.

Most of the time Angelina wouldn't bother to leave the doors locked. Even though safety precautions warranted her too. It made things easier when meetings, filming—ect ran late. Her body made it through the door on cue as the horn of the car, signaled a goodbye. The shopping bags fell to the floor, her purse slipped down her arm, and of course the journals in her hands began faltering as well.

Before long she could hear the deep pounding padding steps, of her eager doggy Yogi. In a blink of an eye the lovable chocolate Labrador—ran upon her. Tail wagging, eyes large with anticipation, and barking as if Angelina have been gone for hundreds of years. Bending down to meet the adorable canine halfway. She scratched him, patting his fur, and permit the four legged animal to lick her face a bit. “Been a good boy? Hm? Yes? Yes!”

She was answered with more speedy barks and licks of affection. Regaining her standing position, Angelina and Yogi traveled past the dim living room, over the two little steps and into the kitchen. Out stretching one arm, Angelina flicked on the kitchen light and was met with the white affluent, peaceful ambiance of the kitchen fully. Most of the cooking contraptions, the actress had failed to use— her attention span for cooking was anything less than bearable.

Small chuckles echoed from her lips as she fished around the lower cabinets trying to find a snack. Yogi, budded his head against her leg— almost asking for one himself. After grabbing a few simple crackers for herself, dog treat for the pup, Angelina pranced her way to her bedroom.

The lanky actress had wolfed down the crackers fast. Now she became situated in a heated, candlelit, door closed and locked, bubble bathtub. Her pale skin soaking in the sweet lavender body wash, she so graciously added to the water— along with some honeysuckle bath bombs. Angelina adored bubble baths, mainly after long days which includes one like today. As the soothing, muscle relaxing home spa like treatment was needed—to was the Rose Gold, Pinot wine that sat half empty on the rim of the sleek porcelain tub. In the beginning stages of her soak she had, nursed the wine. Baby sips, little nips. Then, grabbing the glass by the base she downed the wine. Rich in taste, smooth on the route, leaving a satisfied almost drool expression upon her face.

Raising her head a bit, damp strings of her hair sticking to her neck. Her misty eyes viewed the steam from the water—it was gratifying to see. Angelina stuck one arm out from under the water, watching enticingly close, as droplets fell from her thin fingertips. A soft “Mmm.” Rang from the depths of her throat, and past her lips. This was bliss. This was truly a peace maker to her overactive mind. Overactive life in some areas.