Some people have a gift, where they can open themselves to their own brain, their own thoughts, and pick out just the right combination of words to represent those thoughts, turning those perfectly selected words into poetry, lyrics, whatevers. Sometimes I think I can do that, turn my eyeballs around in their sockets, and look at myself, analyze it, and write it out perfectly, thus passing on everything I see to another person, without failing to show the correct image.
but if I ever could, I seemed to have lost it, or it's changing, and I can't see it. Either I'm changing, or my perspective is changing. or both. either way, I can't seem to get it out anymore.
I told Ki the other night that I'm much more angry than I look.
its true.
But I never speak it. I hardly write it anymore, because I can't seem to get it to mean anything, and if it doesn't mean anything, or it doesn't have the RIGHT meaning, it's useless, and I'm left with this anger still inside me, burning away at me.
and it is in my eighteenth year that I'm noticing how much this anger is burning away at myself. where this anger is coming from, who knows. Step-father, past insults, problems, asshole customers, bad drivers, war, George W bush, who the fuck knows? but people, if you think I'm a kind person, well.... okay, I'll be nice and say that I CAN be a good person, but there are a lot of negative thoughts in my head. and almost every one of them is against myself.
Someday I'll keep a journal of every bad thought that goes through my head. and maybe I'll post it here. but in the mean time, I'll make one last effort to make it clear how angry I am, and how horrible it feels.
the boiling point is drawing nigh, very fucking nigh.
everything that happens to me, disappoints me, bothers me, hurts me, everything adds up inside, and it's not going anywhere. not when I sleep (I wake up angry, pissed off that I had to get out of bed today...), not when I walk, not when I drive, not when I smoke, not when I drink, eat, work, talk, write.... my outlets have been plugged, dammed up by something unforseen, and if I don't figure that out soon, I'm going to explode, and whats left of the charred remains will be a wholly different person...
It scares me.


It's funny, how some of these nights I'll figure out something else about myself, and yet I'm no closer to understanding it, and dealing with it the way I should. I learn something more, without a step closer to IT... and a year later it changes anyway, because we're always changing.
I suppose I'll always be like this than, won't I? Always in the dark, unable to get it out, to fix it, or even comfort it in the midst of it's turmoil...