Saturday, May 14, 2011

one hundred times

one hundred times
i type or pen or scratch
what i want to say,


and it ends up not being good enough.

for whom?

for whoever i'm trying to impress - but it's like,

WHO AM I TRYING TO IMPRESS?

i wish i could just be satisfied with something.
sometimes i am but most times i'm not.


don't believe me?
check my millions of saved drafts, begging to be revised

my fingers ache to type the sadness in the pit of my heart that i felt one night at the ~club~ 
but i can't find the words. 


  this has been a draft 
publish post.

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