Ejecting thoughts
I contradict myself. Simple. Complicated. Soft. Rough. I suppose its whatever I feel like being; in all my stubbornness, I am fluid. If I were a glass, I would be overflowing with words and patterns. Nothing within me is of equal size, shape or color. I flow from a river of life as the red in my veins. Three weeks of the month I am at a place of peace; my soul is serene. It does not take much to satisfy, although I have a deep upon endlessly deep longing. Is desire selfish? Is patience a flaw? I feel that I expect so much that I won’t know when everything is in the right place. Will the puzzle click as dramatically as I imagine it would? Yes, complicated. I’ll take it as it comes, sort through these thoughts I haven’t taken the time to listen to in some months. Sometimes questions just need to be heard, not answered. Like those people who complain about every detail of their life but don’t want to take advice. Just a need for an ear to hear all the fears. Writing is where I can express, and if the eye takes a liking then thats upon choice. No prisoned ears to my words. Explain. I take too long to explain things. Its funny how a feeling seems to be just one thing until you attempt to put it into words, then its hundreds of things that hardly add up right. I’m like an ipod of all different genres on shuffle.
