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I sob for

something I think I

hate, but cry "no no no"

when asked if I

want to quit.

Because I just can't.

There is no

possible way

that I could quit.

Lie awake tired, won’t go to sleep, regret it in the morning,

repeat. 

I try to break the cycle, 

but then something stops me.

Oh wait, it was just myself, again,

like always,

but I'm stuck and

Pages hold the ink

of my pen, tears of my eyes,

power of my words.

fitting in is rent, and it's due every day

paid in the basic clothes you wear

and in the people of which you smile and compliment

but more importantly in the people you don't

The dirty gravel path crunches under the tires of our Toyota. Dust rises around the car, blurring the tall vibrant trees hugging the road.

Conflict causes crazy

crisis, confuses me

until I'm numb.

Don't know what

I desire, asking the

question, "who am I, really?"

because I really want to know.

People's perceptions poke