Small

I like writing as it is a way to let the self expression go what ever way it may choose, I do not write for others and care not what others may think as they have not shaped my world nor will they. I guess I should be careful of what I type but why? This is me and if I am not pretty enough for your eyes then focus them elsewhere, thank you. I wish I were a fly on the wall so I could observe me and my actions, so I could try to make sense of it all.

Nobody cares what I write and nobody is able to feel what I feel at any given moment, that is called being human. Writing for others is like living for another, what’s the point? There is none so I write for me and live for me and will continue to do so and as I write, most of the time I feel better and sometimes I do not but that is the sweet thing about writing, it is a release of what binds me too the wall and keeps my life from moving forward.

I am my own prisoner and I have become a prisoner of love which pisses me off as I do not want to love but am consumed by it never the less. I am holding so tight that I am choking the shit out of the love I feel for this person and I need the love so bad that if it could be bought I would be first in line. It is not healthy to live without love and I am so damn unhealthy right at this moment as love has eluded me for so damn long, in fact to long.

I need this man to show me love and understanding because I am tied to him and cannot get away. I am the eternal fish and I hate it, I hate being a damn fish, as I cannot swim away and he will not come to me. He must realize what he is doing to me and my mind, he must know he is making me so unstable and unsure of myself and this is not needed, especially at this time in my life as I was standing so tall and his sorry ass came along and made me feel small. 

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