Monday, December 1, 2008

unfinished and blurred

Originally uploaded by Maharet Raider
i've been feeling a little strange lately. anger wells within me like a bubbling bottle of shaken soda...ready to pop and burst and spray all over you the instant you pry open the cap. i hate everything and everyone right now. yes, even you. 

i have too many things i want to do and no direction. unfinished business always leaves me feeling really uneasy and stops me from moving forward no matter how much i try to ignore it.

i don't write anymore. not like i used to. i didn't mind sharing back then, but now every time i go write all i can think of is someone may one day look at this. someone may one day read my thoughts, though i left them here fully intending on just that. i thought i didn't care.

i think i was wrong. see, apparently i don't mind if anyone knows what i'm thinking, but if they don't like what they that bothers me. and i can't fucking get over it! i can't fucking get over it!!! i'm not a writer. i don't know poetry. i don't have rhymes of love tokens for anyone. i'm not a fucking writer, but i try. my grammar isn't great and i don't give a shit if i spelled this or that right. i don't care if it makes sense. i don't give a fuck.

but if i hurt you... it's like the end of the fucking world as i know it. especially if it wasn't my intention. if it was because of some embellishment or over dramatic prose. well, someday i'm going to have to get over it. some day i'll have to move on, but you would think that after nearly 2 years it would be over and done with. enough is long do i have to beat myself up?

had i simply changed the names on all of my accounts i could very easily have moved on and not worried anymore, but i love this name. i've grown so fond of it that if i stopped using it i would feel as if i've slaughtered a friend for nothing.

i hate that about myself. i hate that i can become so attached to something that means nothing to anyone but me. i hate that i can't write anything anymore. not without feeling guilty.

sometimes even my own husband asks me not to write about certain things. why do i listen to anyone? why should i care? i shouldn't let them get to me. 

the sad truth, the reality of it all is that i have nothing to talk about. not really, so i'm just rambling about something that doesn't really matter just to put a few paragraphs together again. just to seem as if i have something to say. but it's nothing. i have nothing and i am nothing.

i am unfinished, i am blurred.

i am nothing.

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