Mood:
accident proneand just one more gripe about my parents and then ill shut up. promise haha.
im tired of you (as if im speaking to my parents) trying to show me off.
im tired of you (mom) never coming to a good amount of my concerts til this year because you all the sudden had a head ache. and you never toulk interest- or this is how it seems to be- in my drawing, or music, or any of that , until someone comes over that you want to impress, then you take tiffany out of the closet, dust her off, then show her off to all your friends, after i ask you repeatedly to stop because i dont like sounding like im boasting- even though im not actually saying a word of the boasting.
dad has always seemed interested, but he still manages to forget that im in love with basketball. yall never even mention my basketball skills when bragging about me, hmm, denial?? haha.
and oh my dear, yall dont even know i write poems, not that id tell you anyways, cus that would just give you another thing to smother in peoples faces.
and another thing- this is my life, not yours, they are two seperate things. so dont try and get me to live your life for you, just because you could never draw or something. ive told you these things are just hobbies that i like to do for myself or others in my spare time, i want massage therapy to be my career. and i think ive said enough.
thanks to this keyboard for humouring me, i know you could care less what i type, but it feels good to get out of my head, there are too many things flying around here like crazy witches on broom sticks, all doing that annoying wicked witch laugh. and so it feels good to release a few, though i know the monsters are still there. like stains on my brain.