Midnight Insomnia

August 23rd, 2009

You’ve got me refreshing and hoping, but every time I’m let down with the disappointment of the fact nothing has changed since the last time I checked. I’m wondering what I should do, I don’t want to be a bother, but it’s all that’s been on my mind since I carelessly did something right for a change. I can’t let it go, you’ve got me so confused, and I’m thinking I’m hiding this pretty well, but it shows more than anyone is willing to look for. The words keep repeating in my head, and when I want to say them I’m given no opportunity, for the fact you’ve been too busy to exchange conversation with me lately. My closed eyes will tell you anything that you’re willing to hear, with no doubt, brave and standing tall, nothing in the world could take me down. My eyes slowly open, I start to see, and I crumble again because once I see you I can’t stand to know that I was too scared to tell you how I really felt for the fact I was too scared of being broken again.

(Originally Posted Here)


August 21st, 2009

I want to speak up, but even then I fear no one will hear me still. Even if they hear me, that doesn’t mean that they’re actually even listening. You find yourself writing about your friends, but they’re too annoyed at the fact you’re always writing new things, to even bother reading them anymore. Putting effort and affection into something you think is art, and finding the response wasn’t what you wanted sometimes hurts a lot more than you thought it would. No response, or interrogation. The people who actually care don’t read it in the way it’s supposed to be artistically, and want to know what’s behind it. Writing is personal, and sometimes it takes a lot of courage for me to post it. No one sees that; no one understands. No one gets what crossed my mind when I tried to form those phrases; when I tried to create something that replaces the need for pages and pages of smeared ink diary entries. Simple and complex, they link together, their DNA forms all I need to say that I love writing, but sometimes words are not enough to keep me breathing.

(Originally Posted Here)


August 20th, 2009

Beat me down with your stereotypes, but I can never confine myself. You can talk, and write, and pretend all you want, but only I will ever know the real me. You don’t know the truth, not even half of it, or even how I feel. You can’t tell me who I am, what I want, or what I’ve done. Repeat my words, but they change, stories change, and all I fear is drama starts. People change, and so do I, so I can’t hold on to your label or define myself anymore. Who I am has never been what I am, but no one gets the difference. If you can’t tell between them, what gives you the right to claim you know me well enough to stereotype me in the first place. In the mirror, I’ve watched myself change, and through my dreams, I’ve felt it. I can’t hold on anymore, I’ve broken my self-image, and all for some words that mixed up my intentions to smile. Facing my image and my dreams has lost me in all this confusion. I can’t hold on to who I was, and I can only hope that they understand. Seeing myself change has been one of the hardest parts, but holding onto my self-image of what I used to be makes it hard to accept the fact that I changed, and I have no identity. I’ll take my time before I try to confine, and I can only hope it turns out alright in the end. But if you can’t love me without a label, then what kind of love was that from the start.

(Originally Posted Here)