Ok, it's about you...

I am the original never-satisfied. I am always pulling things apart and then trying to put them back together.

My writing is kind of a haphazard thing. Either I plan to write, or I don't plan to. Either I plan to write about a topic, or I don't plan to. When I write anything, it tends to just bubble out of me. And then either I hate it or I don't. If I hate it, then I either throw it away or I put it somewhere to be recycled or reworked. If I don't hate it, either I feel it captures whatever I was going for, and I leave it alone, or I feel it doesn't, and I try to rework it. If I leave it alone... I might actually leave it alone, or I might go back to it at a later date and rework it anyway. If I try to rework it, either I hate it or I don't... etc.
Honestly, it is very rare that I ever actually get to a finished product. I only consider two things that I have posted on this blog to be actually finished.

Be nice to me, this is a work in progress!

I think... Yes I think I remember you.
The one who did not break as others do,
The one with lean back and lengthy strides,
The stance of a power who could stop the tides.
The one with the soul that could out-shine the sun,
The one still left standing when all came undone.

I am sure... I am sure I remember you.
And the story of a river where dreams flow true,
And the steps of a dance that you know so well,
And strong hands that kept me above the swell.
I remember a laugh that could re-write the day,
And a sorrow that oceans could not sweep away.

I know... yes I know I remember you.
The one with fierce fire that burns me through,
The one who I lost to the wandering wave,
The one who I love and I could not save,
The one who is searching and has not found yet,
The one who my heart just can not forget.

~Dischord

The day before yesterday, I sent my aunt the poem I wrote about her husband, my uncle, and his dinosaur... you can go back through and find it... you will see I put it up here years ago. She said she really liked it.
Sometimes I wish I was braver, and that I put myself out there more. But I think I am moving slowly towards being who I want to be. I am really glad I sent it to her. I always wanted her to read it. I feel really good about it... even though it is scary. Is it a poem, is it a story, does it have worth if you never share it with anyone? Does the audience define it? I don't think so, but I do feel so... it is hard when your thoughts and your feelings disagree!

Protest

Truth

Please don't be helpful, I don't need help. It may be irrational, but no amount of helpful or uplifting statements will change the crazy eyes that I sometimes see the world with.

Sometimes I think that everyone I know, everyone I love, hurts... and I am the common denominator.
Sometimes, I think that everything I touch breaks.

I am writing something... something that isn't dark or sad (much). And when I get done with it, I will post it. I wanted it to be done by now, but it isn't.