God my leg itches. I could bend down and scratch it, but I'm too lazy. I shaved my legs today. That's probably why it's itching. I pause to shift in my bed and I hear my roommate frantically trying to get her paper done. I don't write papers often. When I do, I finish fast and get good grades. Do I sound pompus? I don't mean to be. Everyone has their strenghts. I just have writing. What if I didn't have any talent? That would be suck. Then I would be that kid no one talks to, but talks about behind their back. I hope I never turn into that kid. Somtimes I have doubts. Am I good? Or just spouting banal bullshit I've copied from a million different writers? I want to be original, but everyone is influenced in their art.How can you not be? Art is a reflection of society and to ignore other's work would be ludicrious. It's closing yourself off to a whole new realm of possiblities. I'm ready to stop shifting. I'm ready.
Awkward moments...
Why can't it just flow?
Childish behavior from adults.
Are we adults?
I can't think. I can't speak.
Everything is changing.
It's too much to take in.
I feel connected...
But I'm all alone.
Childish. Awkward.
I miss you.
Do I write for myself or for other people?
I mean, writing is an outlet for me, but do I really want someone to come along and read my piece and say, "I completely get you now."
The thing is, they won't.
Not the real me.
Even in my writing I censor myself.
Someone is always watching.
Awkward moments...
Why can't it just flow?
Childish behavior from adults.
Are we adults?
I can't think. I can't speak.
Everything is changing.
It's too much to take in.
I feel connected...
But I'm all alone.
Childish. Awkward.
I miss you.
A memory.
A smile.
A thought.
That happy moment.
I thought it was over.
I'm sucked in again.
I spiral; I can't stop.
I spiral; I never want to stop.
I spiral
Spiraling yet again...
Because of you.
I can see a light from my bunk bed. It's bright; changing colors. Red, green, purple. Brilliant pinks, blues, glaring yellow and searing red. Fluidly changing from one spectrum to another. That light shines on a stage. Creates an atmosphere. I wonder about the people there. Do their moods change with each hue? Or are they immune? Lost in their own worlds. That light isn't on tonight. I'm scared. The comfort is gone. I'm sad. The moment is over. The light is out.
Indesicion strikes again.
What do I have to gain?
All could be lost.
My heart, my love, my trust
at risk.
The light seems closer now.
The situation seems clearer now.
I can breathe again.
Life is back.
But indecision will strike again.
Is opening up the first step or the last?
If I open up now, do I risk more?
If I open up later, do I risk all?
These thoughts fly through my mind.
Trust is a hard thing.
Not easy by any means.
I'm here to grow, to learn...to love.
I want to trust. I do.
But my heart fails me.
Another block from the truth.
My nails are uneven. I had to cut them down to play guitar. I'm no good though. I sit and I practice in an attempt to appear more interesting. Attractive. I use that word too much. But I feel consumed by it. It's not the lust; it's that connection I long for...that connection I seek. Do I connect to him? I am attracted to him. Therefore we connect. At least I'd like to think so. My mind whirls with conversations we've never had, moments we've never shared, connections never made. Am I doing it again? Am I buying into my own delusion? This time, I don't want the delusion. I want the truth. I cut my nails for this shit?
It's there.
We both know it.
Stolen glances.
Captivating smiles.
They build and grow into...
Does fear grip both parties?
Or are my doubts one-sided?
I write, and I love, and I think, but no answer arrives.
Answer the unspoken question.
Before it's too late.