I'm Not So Sure.
I suppose this is some sort of literary anarchy.
I guess.
I'm not sure how to let go of my insides.
I once had to go to a doctor after my parents split up for emotional counselling. I was nineteen, and already knew that I turned my broken parts into verbal anger. I really didn't need that point adulterated. I suppose now that I am older, I'm still not so sure on how to let go.
So many things make me angry. The blatantly obvious, the people who underestimate the blatantly obvious, the people who cannot see the blatantly obvious.
People who are blatantly obvious.
It's a never ending blackhole of annoyance and sometimes, for no reason, I stop, I cry and than stare. I wait for it to make sense, but it never does. And I know that it's not a release because nothing changes.
Some people think that Scorpio's have an uncanny ability to feel things that others never will. If I have that ability, than I would like to get rid of it because most times I think that my heart has had enough of people's self-hatred and the excess amount of complete rubbish that pours out of them because of it.
I can't help but feel that the writers of this site are poetic misunderstandings, sitting in damp spaces, writing about moments that shaped their identity, morals, understanding - the blatantly obvious.
It burns me inside to read this sometimes, but other times it makes sense of whatever it is that keeps me crying. The things that I do not understand, and probably do not want to.
If this is the way that I am to express myself, than please accept it's brutality. Or maybe it's honesty. Or maybe just the anger. If words are my magic, and this is my expression, than I will wave my magic wand. I can't be held accountable if I turn you into a pumpkin. Not anymore, anyway.
I haven't been angry for a long time. Somehow, someone managed to freeze my tongue into a constant state of objective wonder and I praise him for that.
And I am an awful and miserable alley cat, who has kissed and cannot tell about all the tramps she's seen behind the veil of distance, and for that, I hurt more than I ever have.
Why is it, that when you fall in love you're so sure of everything, and not sure of anything else?
I guess.
I'm not sure how to let go of my insides.
I once had to go to a doctor after my parents split up for emotional counselling. I was nineteen, and already knew that I turned my broken parts into verbal anger. I really didn't need that point adulterated. I suppose now that I am older, I'm still not so sure on how to let go.
So many things make me angry. The blatantly obvious, the people who underestimate the blatantly obvious, the people who cannot see the blatantly obvious.
People who are blatantly obvious.
It's a never ending blackhole of annoyance and sometimes, for no reason, I stop, I cry and than stare. I wait for it to make sense, but it never does. And I know that it's not a release because nothing changes.
Some people think that Scorpio's have an uncanny ability to feel things that others never will. If I have that ability, than I would like to get rid of it because most times I think that my heart has had enough of people's self-hatred and the excess amount of complete rubbish that pours out of them because of it.
I can't help but feel that the writers of this site are poetic misunderstandings, sitting in damp spaces, writing about moments that shaped their identity, morals, understanding - the blatantly obvious.
It burns me inside to read this sometimes, but other times it makes sense of whatever it is that keeps me crying. The things that I do not understand, and probably do not want to.
If this is the way that I am to express myself, than please accept it's brutality. Or maybe it's honesty. Or maybe just the anger. If words are my magic, and this is my expression, than I will wave my magic wand. I can't be held accountable if I turn you into a pumpkin. Not anymore, anyway.
I haven't been angry for a long time. Somehow, someone managed to freeze my tongue into a constant state of objective wonder and I praise him for that.
And I am an awful and miserable alley cat, who has kissed and cannot tell about all the tramps she's seen behind the veil of distance, and for that, I hurt more than I ever have.
Why is it, that when you fall in love you're so sure of everything, and not sure of anything else?
posted by fucking diddums | 12:03 pm
