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wishing for a thing does not make it so

Wish all my dreams were not nightmares. All my dreams are, except the ones I force into my brain to force myself to get to sleep. Uncertain of the inspiration that came with the one words, now gone and lost. Why? Uncertain of why I backed away from admiration when it was offered and uncertain most of all on why I tried to twist it all into sexxx. Not sure why ridiculous randomness should keep me on edge all day long and make me long for how things might have been or were or at least how I thought they were. Where does this lack of self-esteem stem that I am willing to take so much utter borderline emotional abuse? Then I look at myself and I look around me at all the people and the things and they way things are and how that makes all the little people jump around inside their boxes like Mexican jumping beans. I am not an impulse buy. I get put on clearance PDQ. Reject. Defect. I wish I was not defective of mind, body, spirit. But...

9:03 PM - Tuesday, Sept. 18, 2012

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