Thursday, April 14, 2011

Jig saws.

The first passion I ever took upon was writing so why can't I write. Why can't I imagine up these little vivid worlds and color a paper with words anymore? I couldn't draw with crayons so I began to draw with words. Now I can't do either. Why do I crumble so easy under pressure. Why can't I spit out a poem or two in a day like I used to. Why can't I spend a day drawing like I used to. I used to be able to do everything with ease when I was young. Now everything is a struggle. Why do I always whine so much. I can't wait for the days when this is all done, and I am happy with life again. I'm sick of redundancy. I'm sick of feeling so isolated amongst a pool of personalities that constantly come and go. I just want stability again. I want real people. This city is too big to be too small. It's too busy because it's too small. A big city is so busy that I can just relax. Relax with the handful I know. The handful that I will see everyday and trust like fam. You just can't do that in a place where you know everybody, not in one that's too big, yet too small. Maybe you can, but I just don't know how, and I just don't fit any of these puzzle peices.

No comments:

Post a Comment

Note: Only a member of this blog may post a comment.