Food For Thought
I'm the grass under your shoes, a blue piece of paper carried away by the wind, heavy machinery, a mix of the good, the bad & everything in between. Emilia, Seventeen, Spastic.
I'm the grass under your shoes, a blue piece of paper carried away by the wind, heavy machinery, a mix of the good, the bad & everything in between. Emilia, Seventeen, Spastic.
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What happens in ifmindshadtoes, STAYS in ifmindshadtoes.
June 06, 2009 @ 10:48 PM
Minute; But Like 'My-Newt'
When something's on my mind, it skips. Like a broken record. There's writers block, and there's this thing that I have.
I think about things in full sentences. From the first capital letter right down to the period. Normally, I go over these sentences and try to figure out why I even thought of it in the first place. But that's just about where it ends. It's like those words don't want to end up on paper (or blogs, for that matter). They just want to sleep and prance around in the confinements of my average sized brain.
Instead, when I write, I end up spewing out 'substitute' words that belong on cliche suicide notes. It's pathetic.
It's messing with my head. I'm incapable of voicing out my emotions. That takes guts. I'm already lacking in that area as it is. Besides, people don't want to hear my thoughts. (Unless they're getting paid to, but that's irrelevant)
So what's there left to do? Just keep it in, and pretend that it's not bubbling into rage?
Or try to fish it out and end up with countless of meaningless posts such as this one?
Minute; But Like 'My-Newt'
When something's on my mind, it skips. Like a broken record. There's writers block, and there's this thing that I have.
I think about things in full sentences. From the first capital letter right down to the period. Normally, I go over these sentences and try to figure out why I even thought of it in the first place. But that's just about where it ends. It's like those words don't want to end up on paper (or blogs, for that matter). They just want to sleep and prance around in the confinements of my average sized brain.
Instead, when I write, I end up spewing out 'substitute' words that belong on cliche suicide notes. It's pathetic.
It's messing with my head. I'm incapable of voicing out my emotions. That takes guts. I'm already lacking in that area as it is. Besides, people don't want to hear my thoughts. (Unless they're getting paid to, but that's irrelevant)
So what's there left to do? Just keep it in, and pretend that it's not bubbling into rage?
Or try to fish it out and end up with countless of meaningless posts such as this one?