Blank.

¿Cleverness?

There are no clever words, nor thought provoking quotes to practically sum up what I am to write. quite frankly, I'm not even certain. I'm pretty sure I've heard these words before, and am just pulling forth the leftover pieces from the farthest depths of the very back of my mind. I am not poet, because I cannot speak without thought. I am not a writer, because I can never finish what I start, not stay interested in one topic for long. Which is precisely why I feel I'll enjoy writing this. you see, this is for ME. it's simply thoughts spat onto a page. or in this case a screen. Though that is hardly poetic. I constantly find that I try to define myself. I thinks that's one of the infinitive sad truths one can discover in this world. we grow up hearing, "just be yourself." that's practically the bumper sticker to life. people use it as a backup plan when they have no a single glimmer of hope, nor do they believe in you. there simply pity. that's what this would is built upon. "oh, poor him/her," or "oh honey, on so sorry." they're not really. something in them as a human just tells them to be. it's the way we are. the way we were wired. whatever, or WHOever the selfish bastard was that invented the human race is the greatest synonym for scum I can conceive. to think, he had the audacity to create self-deteriorating beings makes my head spin. to think, someone actually thought it fair to allow harmful thoughts, heartbreak, disease. and in the end, we WANT IT ALL BACK. Humans are so terrified of death, we prefer the living hell were in now. I truly am sorry for all the spelling errors. in trying something I've never done before. typing EXACTLY what I'm thinking. as in, not twisting my words to make them sound better. I suppose I shall call this hinge writing. no particular reason, I was simply looking at my bedroom doors as I said this. that is how simple minded I am. though I try with every aching part of myself to be- I don't even know what the word is. it's just not me. IM not john green. in not Edgar Allan poe, and I'm not shakespeare. I cannot entertain you. I can simply blabber on about my never ending thoughts and the voice in my head. oh, and why don't I get to that. I believe your all familiar with schizophrenia, yes? All what, five of you that will actually read this.. where someone hears these voices in their head. speaking, taunting, and cursing them. I believe in some such way I have that, although, it's a bit more complicated than that. after all, the stuck up, Ivy League polo wearing doctor that diagnose the disease probably hadn't even experienced it himself. That's much like a cheesy metaphor in a sense. that every opinion, every summarization. it can never be close to the real thing. you never truly know what someone's going through, what they're like, what they're thinking. it's simply in fathomable. by now if you've still by gods grace found it in yourself to read thus far, i thank you. though I can't imagine why you wouldve. by now you've probably realized the limitations to my vocabulary. I say not because it makes me feel smart, I say simply for the same purpose. as If I were able to explain something to you. I suppose by now you've probably started thinking. whether it's about the evolution of man kind of the grilled cheese you had for dinner, I don't know. I'm just glad you've been given the same freedom this awkward mess hath given me.