I've most certainly neglected my DA over the past year or so...

It's sorry to say that I'll spend more time on more useless endeavours such as myspace when I use the internet.
I was once told that I need to open my mind to the usage of it.
The internet that is. Hah.

I use it alright, but abuse it? I dunno.
It's just a typical trait of my generation I spose. Why should I have to fight it, you ask?
I don't; apart from when I fear that I'm becoming more typical and predictable than ever.

I keep having to correct my typing because I hate this school laptop keyboard! It is irritatinggggg

But anyway, I have 3 exams left. Woop.
I'm currently typing this because I feel there is only so much revision that can actually be done in regard to GCSE poetry.
I'm sorry, but I just find them shallow in an analytically valuable sense and I can't focus on learning anything that is over highlighted in a revision book which is riddled with puns and pathetic 'wit.'

Poetry is open, and I wish I possessed some capability for it.
There's no way I could ever write anything truly stirring or meaningful, even if it managed to arise a personal nostalgic or 'that word which I can't remember' impact even for me. Myself.

Having a reasonable vocabulary doesn't make you poetic.
Having a large heart won't always mean you win.
Having an analytical mind does not equal intelligence.

I'm gonna scrape through these exams and do the best I can I guess. That won't amount to anything fanastic, but what does?

I can't wait for those summer nights where nothing seems to fall into place and there is no time and there is no day and there is no need to be worried about anything.
There was a time when that was all I could ask for because I had it all.
That is now gone, for what reason is too compicated for here.
There's a new person out there now, waiting to be discovered and waiting to be aquired my this mind. So I can leave my skin once and again and become new.

This is all a load of pretentious crap, you understand. I'm just trying to make something mildly entertaining out of my own confusion and worries.

If you have read this far - why?!

I used to write stuff a lot. Back in the day.
it was always for me, no one else. It's sealed in pages which I rarely open now.
It accounts a different world and a different life, which is crazy to remember. Painful in parts.

What's the point of all this?
Maybe some day I'll look back and read this too.
Then I can remember, wether that's a good or a bad thing.
Probably good, as reflection can be healthy.


I wonder what the next couple of months will bring.

x