Goodnight

How do I write this piece?
What inspires me to do so?
Nah, none actually. I'm writing right now because I need to let these wiry ideas and unorganized thoughts to get out of my brains.

Not means I've got brains.

So, I've been making poetry, forcing myself to write beautiful and touching lines and even make up new words which are so ugh.

It's not writer's block or what but I can't get my thoughts right. I forgot to use punctuations and spellings right. I can't even speak straight these days. Is this all full mental?

Maybe because I got no inspiration. Or maybe because I don't read much these days that's why my vocab and grammar (which are always wrong) can't sleep on their proper place.

I have ideas and imaginations and surely I've been thinking, "it's easy writing thoughts." But right now, I cannot see myself flowing and interacting in the waves of wisdom rather I've been drowning on some sort of sticky, humid, (ugh) disgusting soil that liquified because of great storms of trials and hatred.

I've been wanting to write and move people like I sometimes did before. I wanted to write freely without thinking of "what shall I say next?" and let all these ideas flow.

But I've got no Idea.
It feels like I've got no brains.
And it is very annoying to know that you wanted to deliver and tell shit and whatever but your brains won't make you do it.

You can't make yourself do it.
Because you're a push-over.

What? What's a push-over? Why did I link it with my explanations right now?

Because I don't know the exact words but I guess I'm really like a push-over. Like forcing my ideas to get their ass together and fall in line then get out of my untidy brain so beautifully and let themselves be revealed in light for people to praise me even though I don't deserve such compliments.

All I wanted to do is sleep and write a poem. Write something from my heart and not forcing myself to write something for whatever. I'm not clever, I'm not good and I'm not great that's why I cannot pull myself together and invent words, glued them all organizedly (there's no word such as organizedly but I don't know what word to place to satisfy what I wanted so I just put that word) and create a piece just like great authors have done.

They say that if you were born to write, you can always write whatever the situation, your emotion, whatever the given topic and whatever fckng sht.

They say that if you're a writer you're mostly deranged or disorganized or insane or mad or whatever.

Some say that a writer is the opposite of the above.

And most say that writers never swear.

Well, I'm sorry if you're reading curses on my works. Maybe I'm really not a writer.

But it downs me, you know. When people call you and tell you that "why did you change this one?" "Why haven't you pass a work?" "Why are these editings all wrong?"

It just sounded like: "Don't try to push things in accordance to your ideas" "You're so dumb and can't even write an article. Why wish to be a writer?" "You made these pieces worse with your editings"

And voila, I'm down.

Sometimes it's not that people would want to sound like that. People don't want you to filter that as negative ones. But sometimes it's your brains that's doing that "be-stressed thing" and it's not those people fault but it's just your own brain and it's crappy intake (wtf. I don't know the right word so I just place intake) of thoughts and comments.

I know that it's my vocab that makes things worse. And I know that grammar adds to the drama. I also know I really am not talented and just a piece of trash.

Nah, don't pity me.

So here I am writing these words as if it would lead me anywhere. My sole reason to create this one is to let those muddy ideas get out of my skull but still I can feel the heaviness in my head.

To be honest, I really cannot do it anymore. Even if I wanted to. Even if this is what I always wanted.

I am torn between my abilities and my capabilities and the things that I cannot do. I am torn between what I wanted, what I called for and what are the things I will never be.

I said I will write to get everything out of my mind to let those dirty ones come out to let clear ideas flow after. But why is it that I wrote about me and my current situation? Why is that I wrote about my dreams and what I hope for? Were all these things negative and not what will help me? If what I wanted is what hindered me to do what I wanted, what would become of me? Trash, right?

Self pity. I don't need cheers and you-can-do-it craps. I don't need you to tell me it's okay. I wrote this one without knowing this will end like this. I don't know how I end up like this but don't cheer me up.

All I ever need is to get this off my brains. But the mud is too dense to even flow out my fingers. Typing can't help it, forcing won't help it. Nah, I should just die.

So here is it. I need to stop writing right now.

Maybe I should just quit...

Maybe I should've stop.

God Bless to me and all the ideas that will never be known. I am now resigning from my goals.

Goodnight. I will just sleep it all alone in this sunny afternoon.