and i'm once again back to spilling words onto a page.
i need something physical to remind me i'm real.
today has to be the first of the rest of my life.
dreams and hopes revealed.
to me.
to you.
to them eventually.
sometimes i sing the lyrics in my head out loud. they never make sense.
then i try and write them down, but they never sound the same on the page.
the paper twists them. the ink stains.
i'd start a band, but i'm not talented enough to accept that i could be talented enough.
the skeletons in my closet were formed by words, and now they're kicking and screaming trying to break down the barriers i built between me and the world.
but it's a comfort to know i'm safe in my own head.
being the procrastinating underacheiver that i can't help but embrace.
this face doesn't fit me anymore... it's got to change.
or does it?
