A long array of minutes and seconds go by between my posts; I want to write more, but sometimes the words are blocked by the diligent beavers in my mind. I find distractions in playing my guitar (which I just came back from) or from the mindless chatter of the spiders on the web. The stories and words play in my mind like trapped images in a snowglobe, wanting to be accidently dropped and shattered on the paper. I feel as though my words aren’t as ‘put together’ as I envision them to be; I should not hold the opinions of what others think of my writings so high but I do, I can’t seem to help it. I spill my blood and soul when I write, I do not want that to be judged, and yet I feel the need for it at times. Something to fuel that fire deep within me. I won’t say my flame is dwindling, but I can feel parts of myself being hit by the cold waters of the ocean on the lava flow of my heart, and forever turning to volcanic glass. Yet a hope lies in its midst because glass can be shattered and remolded. I feel myself becoming bitter, like the old rine of a once juicy sweet orange. I am not sure if anyone can meet the standards I have placed in my mind, if anyone can shatter my black glass heart. Don’t misjudge what I am writing, my heart bleeds with so much love I don’t know what to do with it all at times, but it breaks everyday… It aches like a day old wound, a slice in my heart that is still healing. I judge lately, because I am judging myself. I crave the touch of a man so intensely that at times I feel like I can go insane with the need. The older I get, the more the need grows. If I could be a slut a lot of my tensions would fade, yet the touch I crave is more than just a one night stand. I crave the touch of someone who loves and desires me, who is the King to my Queen, the Thorn to my Rose. I don’t think it is weak to want these things, there is a power in admitting it, but also a deafening sorrow in my heart. So many words still rushing in my mind, but not having any clarity. This is a good start to some truths that need to be let out of my mind, now maybe there will be a little more room for some new flowers to blossom.