Trying to write a poem about last night, about seeing my photos and Becky's mother's paintings both on the walls of Mia's last night... There's so much that could be said, and there's so much about how I feel about that, all the unsaid said things that those two things being in conjunction mean.
I guess really I shouldn't think anything of it at all.
But then again maybe I like torturing myself.
I must be masochist. I was once told that I was. But that was by someone who knew very little about me. But I think he was right. I think I like to pain myself. heh.
I keep crushes bottled up inside, because really... whatever excuses I come up with for not stating the facts, 'mam. And then attractions that I am trying to decipher and make make sense. Once I figure myself to be one way I find that maybe I contradict myself. And why do I think I want one thing over another? And my reasons for feeling this way can be described as this, but really its this, isn't it?
I know I am being cryptic. Its not meant to be deciphered. I know what I am talking about. This is for me.
I gotta get back to work. And I am writing that blasted poem. Its just going to take all day, scattered in with my work.
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