On days I get tongue-tied, I backdate to my older posts.
Reading through them serves as a self-serving narcissist act; one where I constantly reassure myself that while I might not be able to write pretty words at the moment, I once could and maybe soon my thoughts will fall right into place.
My writing has been poor and all poetry never cross pass a sentence.
I would like to point the loaded gun towards the fact that school has been overwhelming but I can never shake off this nagging feeling that it is more than meets the eye.
It is said that a pearl take years to form when once it was nothing but mere eyesore.
So, is this all part of the process and one day we will wake up to be pearls.
And if a pearl never forms, will we still see beauty in what it originally was.
I don’t make sense…… or have you not tried to make sense of the words I do not say, caught between the lines.
There is a dull ache in my chest for I have said too much.
“conceal, don’t feel”
I am happy. And sometimes I am sad. Then there are times I go numb for days.
Or moments when I just run away and hide.
I don’t want to be a pearl. Hidden away from preying eyes while it forms its beauty. Only appearing when it is ready.
I want to be a shell. Protecting its beauty.
Or maybe all I ever was and will be is a gun.
everything I touch surely dies.