I feed my style, do you?

Before I begin, let me just clear some things out. First off, I did not intend this blog to salute negativity, but as I looked back with my previous posts, it seemed so that way. I am not going to defend myself here, or promise you upcoming motivational posts, because whatever. I guess a journal's invented for rants, and whines, and dirty thoughts after all. So take it or leave it.

I don't expect an audience anyway.

{ what you're like so emooooo }

FCKYOU.

Also, I'm doing this post on my iphone with an app, so don't get me started with grammar, typo, ok? I think that's why I keep coming back to writing journals anyway. Because it doesn't require editing. And editing suck balls. It's supposed to capture raw emotions, so here it goes.

I feed my style, do you?

Not hotdogs.

Or pizza.

Or lasagna.

Or omg enough food.

You get the point.

I had a professor once, in a subject that is too long to remember the name of, but I do remember having the word "Morality" there somewhere.

Anyway, he asked my classmate one silly question. I wanted to volunteer but she beat me to it so whatever. This professor then asked her to take him through her closet, and what she'd choose to wear on a certain day. She chose something casual, not that I care. So then this professor asked her if she'd feel any different if ever she choose a different outfit that day. Say, wear flanel, instead of a blouse. Or wear black, instead of white.

She said no.

And my professor liked her answer.

It was, supposedly, the right answer.

Something about aesthetics don't really weigh in decision making shit.

Now if this professor asked me,

It'd get complicated.

Because what I wear affects me greatly.

Not in some analytical level.

But I'd just get really moody.

I feed my style.

I have to.

Or else I lose it.

Maybe you'd call it high maintenance or fake but it's really not. It just feels like going to war not wearing an armor. It makes you feel worried, uneasy. It's uncomfortable. It's wrong. It feels like forgetting the obvious. 

Moreover,

It feels like defeat.

It feels like death.

Death, but not in the mainstream belief of being emo (by welcoming death).

Death, in a way that I'm killing something inside me that cries to break free.

After all, everyone has their dark sides.

Mine's just overactive.