I'd probably be a much better writer if I could capture the things that are written in my thoughts. If I could type the endless string of words that ran through my mind on the metro. While waiting for the bus. As I sit at my desk at 4:21 on Tuesday. The revelations I've had, the psychological battles I've waged, the songs I've composed. It's like there's so much more inside than I've ever let out, and it's not for lack of trying. It's just that once the words pass from my brain to my fingers, they just don't sound the same. As if there's a secret force working within me saying, "No Poesie, your best words are being saved just for you. These thoughts are yours and yours alone."
A.R.M.
09/03/02
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