You- you have a lot on your plate and me- I am just pushed in next to the others that weigh you down while you're trying to carry a thanksgiving meal of responsibility and at the same time not be crushed by it- You don't like it when your food touches. So there I am waiting at the edge of all the chaos trying not to step over boundaries or cross the line I am just another thing thrown onto your plate of responsibilities. I am a shadow. A walking disaster. And I try to avoid all the things that are so ferociously trying to bring you back down- but all I do is end up making it worse making all your **** end up touching so it becomes a mountain upon your shoulders that eventually turns into a chip upon it- you have gone concave- you became acute when you were once so obtuse so full of life so 180 degrees out of everyone else's ******* box and I closed you in. Made you realize what you needed to make yourself small so you could eventually fit the plate just right on your shoulders. I try to take the weight- try to pick it all up myself and do something to help you get through but I just end up touching everything- You don't like it when your food touches. You- you are concave in my convex world always looking inside yourself- always hiding away inside of the parts of yourself I will never see because I'm too busy looking outward to find something I can do for you. We are trigonometry- which is the only type of math I was ever good at in school but I can't seem to find the right angle anymore you are too scalene and not enough isosceles there's no symmetry in the way you look at me- there's too many different sides to you. I'd like to think I've seen them all I'd like to think I've solved what degree every angle you feed me turns out to be- but it seems that the angles aren't what I should be finding. You're just a circle- I can find your radius but I don't have enough of you anymore to find your circumference. We will always be abstract.
this is odd, but I like some of it so I decided to post it. blah.