Writing is an expressive outlet.

You can use many, or a few words, to let out what you feel, think, belief and so on. I tend to start and go on and on until I feel my fingers cramp up. Sometimes if the thought process is good there will be pages and pages and a few sketches too, just to tie together the story.

Sometimes I write when I want to avoid hurting someone's feelings in telling them how much of a jerk they are, Griselda, but you know... I guess I am just selfish because I am leaving myself with the benefit of the doubt on what would have happened if I told her off.

Anyway, sometimes it is embarrassing stories that I want to remember when I get older and need something to laugh about. Hey, we all get to laugh at our own misery.

Along with embarrassing moments come those that you really don't want to forget, like when your love bug bought two king-size Kit Kat bars, and you ended up trying to be cute and giving him a piece with your mouth and ended up eating his chocolate because you are a chocoholic.

Writing can be ANYTHING you want, and make it work for you!

Either you decide to write the 'average Joe' way,

THE ALL CAPS WAY,

no caps,

MiX bEtWeEn ThEm,

O r e v e n w i t h s o m e s p a c e s ?

WHO CARES, am I right?

Sorry for being gone so long, I was just binging on shows and whatnot. BUT hey, maybe nobody noticed?

I see your game, I've played it before and I know what you're thinking.

Blaming ahead, but committing instead to keep blaming on someone else.

Not cool, why are you so cruel?

Gosh, what a fuss. 

Such a headache.

Just shut up for fuck's sake!

Delightfully I wake, thank goodness sake.

Another busy day awaits.

For I do my daily routine, begin brushing my teeth oh so clean.

My hair is a mess, but have no fear, there is no need for distress.

My sweatpants are comfy and no bras or panties.

My black shirt oh so comfy.

Purple and gray socks for the cold morning floor , 

I tiptoe out of the shared room where roommate and boyfriend still snore.

Continuing the day, Mother Nature seems so far away.

She hears the news of a new man in the room,

quickly she travels my way.

She knows I miss my lover, she begins to make my uterus an ugly bundle.

I change to get ready to work, then I feel a leak start to spurt.

"Fuck you mother nature," always creeping when thought unheard.

Many hate it, The flared nostrils, the arched brows.

I can't help it. You act like it is a sin to feel this way.

I could stop if you didn't feel my helping hand as a sign of superiority.

Helping should make you grateful, not hateful.

Little things bug you yet when I am bugged I am the one to get mugged.

I hate it and I do not want to hate you.

Anger is a way of feeling, can't you?

*Why do you enjoy being off task?

-Is this something you should even ask?

Of course, it's fun!

All said and done, 

what more fun can it be to act like you are free.

Free to waste time on fullish things.

Starting a new sketch from the book covered in dust because you cannot create new work if you cannot let your mind soar.

-Sore you will feel when you type until your fingers bleed.

Since you chose to read the night before out of need.

*The need to be active on something else that does not involve writing about perfect composed patterns. The need to write what I please.

-You must do your work, student, you will need to finish and ace it or else someone will take your spot and you cannot replace it.

* Is this really what I should do?

-How come this is something new to you?

* Not sure, I have pushed that thought aside

-Once more like the next assignment assigned.

He was so quick to put his needs first,

she was too quick to respond with open heart and hidden fist. 

He loved her, he dealt with her anger, her past.

She hoped for a future but thought she was no good for her suitor. 

He loved her, he did not know that she hid her darkness with sternness. 

He feared that they would not meet soon.

She wanted to be his light and could not for she had spent too much time a gloom.

They fight for each other but cannot agree on how much they actually love each other. 

Family is strong, no matter how many there are. Near or far.

Whether they spend their time drinking and hitting or just sitting and sippin'. Sipping on the calm tea that they make with the thought of alleviating their stress

for that they are filled with distress. 

They try to ease the road of their wandering souls. 

Soles tearing from their feet, they are worn out from all the storming out. 

All they want to do is shout and shout until there is nothing left they feel they need to yell out.

The blood warm tears they turned away from every painful day.

Nobody was around and they felt they can release of tears like a stream hoping everything was a dream. She loved him and he loved her. They wanted to admit the way they feel without either one asking how much of it was real.