Jun 2014
My computer is as messy as my mind, and is scattered with pretty pictures and blurbs of my brain I was not able to keep in.
I am wired, I am worried, I am always anxious.
And maybe cause I'm scared and worst off I'm puzzled at what's really going on inside.
I lost a friend. A good one, not to a permanent lost, but very much likely will not ever see her again.
And that hurts, like an unacknowledged bruise taking place with me completely unaware, hurting only when poking at the location of bright purple and murky blue.
I hurt for you and my sensitives nerves are all bursting and boiling and bubbled over with swollenness of being overused.
I wish I could put my heart away. I wish I could pretend I had no heart and that people would not sink there teeth into me so easily.
I wish there words wouldn't hurt and spoil me. You think by being old enough the wounds of second grade don't come back to haunt you.
For me, at least they are shadows of my past warning me every day.
It's hard to say words that don't mean anything, worst off it's harder to say words that mean everything.
I don't let others in, no I shrink from that violent force of overcoming with love, for what would I do with it.
Love only makes one lazy and fat with self content. An artist can never be happy with their rate of talent. They search and lurk for more, hoping to be better then they were the day before. That is how we right brained people think. We hurt cause we always have this little voice in our head saying we will and are never going to be good enough. That our talents are empty shots heading toward the sky, as we fall back to earth realizing we are mere mortals who cannot break the atmosphere.
And everything has changed, and nothing at all cannot stay the same. For I've seen seasons break and burst, and I tumble through them on vapid lisps of sleep that do not keep my body operating very effectively. As if hurting myself is really going to stop the change around me, that my resistance to the new will actually make it less apparent that it's all turning into something I now do not recognize. And it's hard when the change begins to become hard. I can accept change that makes me feel bubbles of happiness, but change that makes me feel lonely or sad or empty I cannot feel. Overall this summer has been the adventure that I never anticipated.
It's nice to be free. Not having to worry really about anyone else except yourself. That is being young, and my brother and sister are doing it all wrong. I cannot help but wish I could turn back their clocks and make it so they cannot grow up at all.
I am wired, I am worried, I am always anxious.
And maybe cause I'm scared and worst off I'm puzzled at what's really going on inside.
I lost a friend. A good one, not to a permanent lost, but very much likely will not ever see her again.
And that hurts, like an unacknowledged bruise taking place with me completely unaware, hurting only when poking at the location of bright purple and murky blue.
I hurt for you and my sensitives nerves are all bursting and boiling and bubbled over with swollenness of being overused.
I wish I could put my heart away. I wish I could pretend I had no heart and that people would not sink there teeth into me so easily.
I wish there words wouldn't hurt and spoil me. You think by being old enough the wounds of second grade don't come back to haunt you.
For me, at least they are shadows of my past warning me every day.
It's hard to say words that don't mean anything, worst off it's harder to say words that mean everything.
I don't let others in, no I shrink from that violent force of overcoming with love, for what would I do with it.
Love only makes one lazy and fat with self content. An artist can never be happy with their rate of talent. They search and lurk for more, hoping to be better then they were the day before. That is how we right brained people think. We hurt cause we always have this little voice in our head saying we will and are never going to be good enough. That our talents are empty shots heading toward the sky, as we fall back to earth realizing we are mere mortals who cannot break the atmosphere.
And everything has changed, and nothing at all cannot stay the same. For I've seen seasons break and burst, and I tumble through them on vapid lisps of sleep that do not keep my body operating very effectively. As if hurting myself is really going to stop the change around me, that my resistance to the new will actually make it less apparent that it's all turning into something I now do not recognize. And it's hard when the change begins to become hard. I can accept change that makes me feel bubbles of happiness, but change that makes me feel lonely or sad or empty I cannot feel. Overall this summer has been the adventure that I never anticipated.
It's nice to be free. Not having to worry really about anyone else except yourself. That is being young, and my brother and sister are doing it all wrong. I cannot help but wish I could turn back their clocks and make it so they cannot grow up at all.
