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I feel odd doing this. I do not type my thoughts often. I like them to stay in my head. Let few know what is going on inside.
I am feeling like I need a change. A new job or some new hobbies. New friends. I had come to a place I never would have thought to look for a year ago. Now I only wish I had of known about it years ago.
Life is cruel. I have gotten board with my routine and I have gotten fed up with some things I am running from. I still do not know why I am typing this so anyone can see it.
I guess there comes that point where you just need change. Any change is good.
I feel the urge to write again. My poems come only when I have something to say and a drive to say them. Creativity is the side affect of my condition. Boredom makes us think of things to say. A pen can help us say them.
I find myself wondering if this will get read or if in days to come I look back and see this being the only eyes to have seen it. How will the days have changed me? What will those eyes see?
At the end of the day we are who we are. We are not what others make us only what we choose to become.
A truth that's told with bad intent
Beats all the lies you can invent
William Blake - Auguries of Innocence
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