I feel myself changing.
I feel myself turning into a different being.
I feel myself looking at the blues like it was purple.
I feel myself letting go of the “unchangeable ones” like they were Tommy Hilfiger or something.
I feel myself growing around and into my heart.
I feel cold when I get hot at them.
I feel myself searching for more answers than questions.
I feel like I am in a movie.
I understand the value of silence.
I feel vulnerable.
I feel very anxious.
I feel like I am waiting for something that is not being fair right now.
I feel approachable.
I feel pieces of new powers.
I feel very special, but I am a safe with being normal.
My mind misunderstands me.
I am scared to move back there.
I miss that baby in Kansas so much.
I feel change.
I feel bad for the Muggles.
I feel very poetic and scared to press “publish post”.
I gotta go to bed.
I feel alienated by the writer.
I understand cold showers.
I feel the hair pens bruising my scalp.
I feel bad for not smiling more.
I feel quirky alone.
I feel the ash around my mouth and ankles.
Sleep hates me.
I feel like I have to take control.
I feel shy when I am approached, even at home.
I feel safe.
I feel sad for theory.
I need new oxfords.
I feel my eyelashes touching the fat under my eyebrows.
I am really getting older inside.
I actually enjoy being wrong, it’s funny.
I feel like something won’t let me stop, even if I tried.
I feel like I am about to lose apart of me.
I feel completely out of control.
I am angry at her for editing this.
I feel my sweater slip into the palms of my hands.
I feel the wind knocking my hair out of order.
Time is cool.
I have a lot to say, but end up not saying it.
I feel politically incorrect.
I want to know the truth.
I feel like grandma did at Providence Medical Center.
I feel selfish and self-absorbed for all these “I”‘s.
I smell fall.