Shellswell

Isn't it strange what a simple wash of your hair can do? Or actually taking the time to do some make up. Lately, as a study I have been (wait for it) believe it or not washing my hair. Boy, are the responses through the roof. Crazy. "Michelle, did you do something different today?" " I took a shower, liberating I know." "Huh, go figure, you've been really holding back on us." The hair is not really the topic of discussion because per usual I don't really give a shit about that crap. Cliche but, honestly I truly believe that it really does only matter what is in the inside of you or me. What makes the heart want, what the heart wants? How do you decide to cut someone off ( maybe just not really giving a rats ass but)? I think I have said this before but if you are new to the page of "Michelle's constant shit show" here it goes, I am the most hopeless romantic. I literally love to see new relationships develop and the explos...

The people that I have met thus far have been interesting I would even say a whirlwind. Some heroic, some iconic, and some just powerful. It is so strange how someone can come waltzing into your life and can just irish exit as well (Irish exit means leaving a party without saying goodbye.) I am very well known for doing that at a big gathering. I hate goodbyes just as much as I hate hellos. I have said this before I suck at goodbyes and ultimately I hate hugging and the affection. I am not a huge lovey dovey person if you know me well at all I'm not a huge hugger (I am sorry). Lets get on with it once again. I have felt more so compelled lately to write.. Look at me two in one week. My dream is to be a writer talking about things that make people smile or just genuinely happy to know that life is not a solo ride. This summer I forgot that. I forgot that I'm not alone. I forgot to love those around me the most. I forgot to acknowledge my own mental state. Crazy, I know M...

It’s been months since I have been able to make words into thoughts and thoughts into my own confessions. Some of you may have read me before, some prolly don’t really care to give me a gander. That is all A-okay. That is all part of me transitioning and figuring out what the truth is and more importantly real. I write to create things. To show a passion of mine in my own personal experiences. Here we go. Back at it, I crave acceptance or to be understood. Silly I know. The other night I went to a bar that was completely and utterly just not me or my scene never has been and never will be. You are talking to a jabroney who wears a flannel and converse just about everyday paired along with some gaudy glitter smeared across my face mostly because I took a full 12 seconds to slab it onto my face. Anywho, I’m at this bar full of tons and tons of people (the bungalow) and I could not help but people watch. Eveyone there looked like a misfit. Almost like someone who got invited to the party...