I don't think I'm allowed in your journal anymore because you don't respond. Because you lay your soul bare and when I try to cover it up just a bit with protective words or gentle kindness, you pretend I'm not there. I don't want to intrude. I never know my own strength of annoyance. I always want to be helpful more than I actually am.
Destruction with the best intent. You'd be right to send me away. You'd be missing out on the beauty of me.
Sometimes I think there are rainbows inside me dying and withering because I won't let them burst through. Sometimes I wish I had more people in my life, more to love, people to physically and mentally interact with.
Then I realize, I barely tolerate the ones I have. What is wrong with me?
That's not rhetorical. Feel free to answer. I'm much tougher than I seem. And if you're anonymous, I'll reject your answer for malice. But if you're named, I'll inspect your words for truth and apply them to life's lessons.
Who am I kidding? No one ever finds this journal. By design, by contempt. Just a test but no one's searching.
Sunday, April 12, 2009
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