Marching Band

Okay first and foremost, I want to scream at the top of my lungs. Both of them. Blow 'em out. I want to die because I am screaming so loud that my lungs cramp and cannot function and I pass out because I've suffocated.

Whew. Now that that has been stated. I feel somewhat better. But not really at all. Because I've realized that you can say whatever you want to whoever you want to say it to and they don't have to care. In fact, some people will never care. I am so sick and tired of filtering myself to make other people happy. Or saying just the right thing. I don't care anymore. I don't care if what I say is eloquent or well stated or mild or sarcastic or just right. I'm tired of political correctness and good grammar. I have things to say and I don't think anyone listens and I'm tired of people not listening. I want to stand on tables and roofs and scream just to see if someone hears.

But if they do. I want to crouch down and whisper tiny secrets and cry tiny tears and let my tiny heart be broken. I'd stop being loud. All I want is to be heard and to be cared for. I think that's all anyone wants. We just deal with it in different ways. I want soft words and no goodbyes just when you think they are about to come. I want truth from people- from more the just the moon glistening on the waves. I want real friends and true love and restful slumber.

I know I haven't written in quite some time, but life has been hectic and getting in the way of everything. It's not so good. It's part of why I want to scream. I need to do to this and that and the other. I can't keep up. Oh and Thank you America! I have no idea what I want to do for the rest of my life but I need to decide in the next few years... That's crap. Crappy crap. I feel like I don't know anything anymore and everything I do know has been outsourced by something else and gone to somewhere else where someone else is doing the job. What? Exactly.