perhaps it’s something of a norm

i talk to myself -

in my head, of course,

and i go on hour-long (sometimes even longer)

monologues about

what i would say

to you or you or you

and then i rewind and

scrap it all, begin again.

perhaps it's something of a

norm, something of a

usual, general, typical, thing,

and maybe even my 'why's are

something of the norm, the

usual, general, typical, 'why' -

(except / but / though / etc.) it ea a a a a a a a ases the

anxiety within; me telling myself

exactly what i'd tell you

if i had the courage, or the words,

or the time, or the opportunity -

a place to be real and break it all d o w n

where no one else can see and no one else can

tell me how to pronounce caligraphic or catatatatatastrophe

and no one else can tell me that my words aren't good enough, or

that i'm being a bit too much 'me' (but would it mean anything to)

(know that i do it to myself in all of the places where you might tell me these things)

and it means something - it fulfils a 'dEsIrE' within me to tell you - to say to you

all the things i wish i really could (if i had the courage, the words, the time,)

(the opportunity), even if i never actually end up telling you how

much i'm really hurting or how much i really love you or why

i say or do or think the things i do, for some reason, it is

enough to tell myself the things i wish i could tell you

and keep them hidden inside (for my basement)

(tapes; the hype, twenty one pilots) myself

and then there's also the thing that i really like to pause.

like this.

(you heard me pause, didn't you?)

both in my head, in my

speech, and in my

writing -

i really like

pausing, see?