I don’t like that. Feels like a trap. Something holds me back from being sincere. I care too much about what my family thinks of me.
Okay so maybe I just like to swear, regardless of any “great anger or importance”.
Also I feel like I can’t talk about certain things that have happened in my past.
Sometimes the things I say become so vague it’s almost pointless to say them at all.
Like now for instance.
It bothers me that I never write poetry anymore. Been reading some of my old stuff, and I can barely recognize the woman that wrote it.
Gah who the hell am I anymore?
Something from April 2014:
regardless of the length of the chain, strength of
I had to see if your dog was a biter.
there were warning signs in
my second language:
Teeth Filed, Regrown
No Snarl Until Hungry
on pain as a teacher:
avoiding scars is
My hands outstretched, ready
for the gold-star bruises
of perfect attendance
I think I’m in an apathetic state that discourages poetry. Also the above poem is … meh. So I wasn’t that good at poetry when I was writing. Maybe it’s for the best.