I wipe marker off the board, and I have a painful tendency of quickly growing bored. I can't erase the ink-spots lingering in high-up corners; to spare the self-defeat, I teach myself how to ignore them.
Ignore the marks, and stains, and pains pretend I'm wiped clean, all the same with little left to lose or gain: I leave them; growth is self-restraint.
Perfection is a non-existent notion, so they say; yet, unobtainability is all I can create. For in my mind, these false ideals make tame desires stray, and self-destructive pleasure is my antidote to pain.
I think I'm like a little plant of stunted growth, just seeds to start, my plantpot made from breaking hearts: before I grow, I say I can't.
Before we accept something we must first wholeheartedly reject it. ///// like England winning the world cup lol
//// Joking, I just use humor to mask my emotions x