I don't know what I'm saying.

(note:::this is just a lot of me talking to myself. I need to word purge because I feel as if that is why my writing is suffering. read it if you please. but it's kind of just a lot of shit. okay.)


Before I move on with my life I think I need to just write. Prose. Yeah, strange. It feels wrong to let my words decide for themselves when they jump a line. But maybe I need this. Lately I have been writing about the same incidents many times over. Things that happened months, even years ago. Okay, last year. Regardless. I realized that part of the reason I keep using the same material is because I haven't had a satisfactory poem out of the entire bunch yet.

This is possibly because I haven't discussed so many things with my friends that all of the words are just bottled up inside, and before they become poetry they have to find freedom from my mind. But I can't talk to anyone. Not yet. It feels strange to not know what my friends are doing. My best friend called me the other day while he was at a gas station. We (he) talked for about three minutes and updated me on his great weekend and his almost girlfriend and other details he thought I should know. Although the conversation was cut short, I realized that I didn't have the capacity to make small talk with him. We don't share the same life anymore. He doesn't know what is happening with me. There are months of information that we haven't shared.

As disconcerting as this disconnect is, I'm finding that I don't even know the people I technically consider myself close to. It's as if we don't want to bother each other with our issues, our minor or major infractions that occur daily. I feel like the internet has ruined us. It gave us a place to scream and cry behind a facade of screen and pixels. It gave us a place to be more open, but in doing so reserve ourselves. Because posting something replaces talking about. Liking something replaces responding to someone else. These actions have replaced talking to the point that when we're together, all we do is say "I like what you posted __insert date____". Rather than talk about the content of what it was.

Part of this is that we recognize how personal, raw, and even fleeting some of these things are. They are not really to be discussed, only shared. But others of us are begging to be talked to. To have someone pay attention to us. I don't understand when this started, or if it's always been this way and I'm just now noticing.

I think that I have taken myself away from many people that could have been good for me. I push them away believing that I will corrupt their goodness with my darkness that is disguised and interesting yet misled teen girl. These people wander back into my life occasionally, but only long enough to briefly remind me how I made them leave. How even though when asked I will say "It didn't work" or "I messed it up" I know that it actually worked out just they way I knew it would, which in essence means that I did not mess up. I followed through with a pattern that I have been perpetuating since about 7th grade.

my past few days have been holding on to happiness if possible. three days straight I holed up in a room and watched movies via netflix. St. Elmo's Fire, Smart People, Were the World Mine... if I didn't have school I would do it for the rest of this week. But I need to be devoted to Into the Woods. Which is kicking my ass because, oh hey I have to sing and I just keep screwing that up despite my half-ass attempts to practice. When I'm with choir people and they bemoan those who cannot sing and just pick random notes that everyone else around them is singing all I can think is "Oh fuck, that's what I do..." But that's not really the biggest of my issues.

Mostly I need to not let other peoples emotions influence me so much. It's absurd. I have just realized that at present I have nothing else to say. And despite the fact that it is... I do not consider this a rant. It's just directionless thoughts that postponed my psych homework. Which is another topic of waning motivation for anything that takes any sort of effort. Alas.