miley cyrus is a little fuck. she probably can't sing to save her life. so why is she where she is. she must have a really good agent.
i've wanted to blog like all day yesterday, and now i'm here and i don't know what to say.
what is the fucking point? why do i even let myself fantasize? nothing is ever going to happen. not one thing i dream of having is ever going to come true. and it isn't as if they're unrealistic. it's as if i've buried my happiness in these things that won't ever happen, and now, i believe nothing else will satisfy me except that. or those things.
if i can never make music for people to listen to, i'll be unhappy. i don't even want to admit the others to myself.
fuck! this is so gay and screwed up. katy perry is pretty.
she sings a little like a man, even in the edited versions.
i feel like a book of cliches. i feel like a romantic facebook bumper sticker, the cute lame ones that all the girls make their status. the one that everyone relates to when they're in love, but they laugh at how ridiculous it is when they're not.