It's been too long and it all builds up like a line at Disney when the ticket takers go off for lunch and you're the kid who can't wait for your parents to finish their NINE dollars for a hot dog are they mad they can't possible charge this much and get away with it but they do and you can't say boo to them for it because they've got the bombs. They've got the bombs and if we had a big democracy cake walk it wouldn't make a lick of difference and damn that's FUNNY phrase and who would have though it works like that. All fuzzy and warm in this sweater and words seem to dance but it's only because the monitor flickers and I'm not all that poetic to think of it any other way but WACK! and the monitor stops but one side is curved in like HEY there nice ass and it's making me crazy because the words are all bent and GET BENT you loser you person who likes to say mean stuff that makes me pout and hurt on the inside where I can hide it from you because you don't deserve that part of me anyway and I hide it.

So it all builds up like rust on the gate and it creaks when I do open it and someone else get to hear me cry but no one else should. My fingers are getting chilly but what was that with the cold hands warm heart and I guess I can't be that much of a bitch afterall if I can feel like this frozen snow woman with look they get a little blue when I type too long and maybe that's from these jeans they make everything in the wash blue and no one ever realized that I like the color white, did they? It's so clean and fresh but it's hard to keep it like that. So hard to keep it like that when your jeans bleed blue on everything but no this is just my cold fingers, I just washed them and it doesn't come off.

Sometimes there are too many thoughts to organize them and you just have to let them spill out then check your spelling and what's a period besides what on earth do you mean I need a comma there kiss my ASS you fool I'm spilling words that you'll have to read to see and this is what it SOUNDS LIKE in my HEAD. And can you imagine the racket it makes when I open my mouth to let it out and sometimes I go so fast and get excited and no one laughs at that like he does, and I don't mind. And it all has to come out eventually but in class they said there was a process waiting four years for execution but how important could it have been really?

So I get excited and then it's all gone and there's no more and I feel tired but this way it's all down on paper OH CLOSE ENOUGH nit-pickers out there giving me a hard time but I why do you read if you don't like it I don't really do it all for you but thanks for all your love because I need validation to feel good and I need approval because I LIKE approval and when someone says I'm beautiful it makes me feel happy but shy because I'm so cute on the inside when that happiness gets out I could do cartwheels in the supermarket with you and I bet you would too because I want to be a free spirit and it doesn't happen when people trample your feelings but if you're strong enough to ignore those fool who don't appreciate your beauty both inside and out you can make a lot of wonderful things happen around you.

Some people have personalities like food where if I hate it you might like it for that strange twang or the subtle flavor and some people SCREAM about how awful raw fish must be but I kind of like it and I think I could be as well liked as birthday cake but if you're diabetic you can't have that and let's face it SOME cake can be downright nasty but not me. I can be sweet and well liked but I'm no one for subtle I'm as subtle as a sledgehammer and no one's going to argue with that but when I try to be subtle no one gets it anyway so I can't pull it off it isn't me so why do that? It's not me. I am the firecracker on the cupcakes so blow it out before it blows you out and hurry up I'm not here forever you know and some times I wonder if I'm always as lazy as I feel and it's okay to want to stay in bed isn't it I was so tired and I just wanted that lovely dream to keep going and it was the best hug I'd ever been given and I was so comfy.

And warm and fuzzy in this sweater but my fingers still get cold and the sleeves are a little too short to just pull them over and warm up but could I type like that anyway and I never wrote until I could type and now I write all the time all the freakin' time for god sakes I must have something better to do and really do I type this fast or is it just the fact that my brain is pumping out ideas faster than I can finish the story and I wish I could store them in a queue until I was ready.

But sometimes they get lost in the shuffle and I'm not even empty it's just that my fingers get so cold.