Muses and Observations

Two years ago I went through some type of slightly depressive funk.  I had a yellow folder I wrote all over until it became bits and pieces.  I transferred it to a notebook.  I thought I’d do something with it.  Here are some of the lovely (haha, yeah…) things I recorded.

I have plenty of sympathy to offer–just not for you.

Fear shrouds almost everything.

Why is America such an oxymoron?

You say you want to know about me, but you don’t even want the abridged version.

Why does unconditional have so many conditions? (actually, I only wrote this on the folder because it had to do with something else I was writing, that though, is beyond the point)

Is this just some illusion my mind created?  Is it real?  Is this how I really feel?  Is this who I really am?

Don’t talk about me.  Don’t ask me questions because you deserve no answer.

I’m saying exactly what I mean.  You’re just not listening.

I don’t want to fade.  I don’t want to become an essence of who I once was.

I don’t want to cry.  It’s a weakness I don’t want to have.

This proclomation of hate isn’t fictitious.

Iron shavings fell to the floor as she tried to break her ironman.

I’m sick of trying to fit into your mold.

Why is it that even though you know exactly what you look like, you still expect to see something different in the mirror?

You could tell he played basketball by the broadness of his shoulders.  You could tell he thought he was cool by the swagger in his stride.  You could tell he was small by his big talk. (this obviously had nothing to do with whatever I was going through, but I thought it was fun and it was in the notebook so it was game.)

There’s no pirated version of love, but we can pretend.

Are those who are yong brave or just not smart enough to be ashamed?

It’s not lying if secrecy is your state of safety.

Exclamation points are overrused.  No one is that happy.

I’m sick of this eating away at me.  It’s like an acid I can’t control.

I wish the web we weaved wasn’t a tangled one.

I think that’s enough for now.  It’s funny.  A lot of these had to do with my dislike for people.  I didn’t even hate everybody then.  Now I do because I’m so sick of fakeness.