March 11, 2012

Firecrackers and Yellow and Clocks and Sanity

I don't like being in a place that I don't want to be. And I don't like not wanting to be places.  I just want 15 minutes in the room before I'm told what I'm doing wrong and all the things you don't like about me.  

I'm not a big fan of tears that you bring. Stop complaining about me, or at least have the decency to wait until I can no longer hear you. 

 I'm sorry that you don't like me, I'm sorry, but I am who I am, and you know what? I'm starting to like this person that I'm becoming (at least most of the time.)

 This is not a complaint. This is a complaint.

 I don't know what this is about. It's not about you, or you, or even you. I think this is about me. Actually, I know this is about me.

Don't worry, please, (though maybe I wish you would) this is only about time.

I'm tired, and I'm hurting, so please, please just let me be because when you let me be that's when God talks to me. 



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