I forgot my journal in my car; it’s way too cold to go fetch it.
(Oh okay, so I have been looking through my drafts and found this gem from 2010 when I was in the middle of losing my mind. I took my first poetry workshop soon after and rebirth)
I’ve gotten so blog shy that I had a nightmare about it. Everyone read my blog and could somehow see straight through my ambiguities. They found out all of my secrets. They met the side of me that I just can’t kill off. Why do I do some of the things I do?
Sometimes I think there is either one big thing every one sees but me, or one big thing I see that no one else does. But that’s not real, is it?
I hate it when I forget what makes me sad.