J'en ai marre.

Oui, j'en ai marre, mais j'en ai marre de quoi?
Je sais pas. Je sais rien.
Je sais jamais rien. Ce que je sais est que je suis tellement schizo.

Je ne peux pas prendre les critiques et ca ne me plait pas.
Je pense que ça montre un caractère faible.
Mais je ne suis pas faible.
Mon rire est un source d'un grand nombre de critiques.
Mais pourquoi est-ce que ça m'affecte? Ce n'est pas un probleme. Je m'en fous.
J'avais donné à beaucoup beaucoup de personnes les conseils comme, "ohh ignorer les haters, leur opinion ne fait rien."
C'est nul ça. Vraiment nul.

Bien qu'on dise "je m'en fous", tout le monde fait attention à ce que les autres pensent à lui et leurs opinions nous affectent et nous influencent.
C'est la nature humaine je crois.
Que faire?

... Rire

















Mmm, apres tout ca, je me sens bien heureux.
Formidable :)

People Say The Best Things

I always find that whenever I'm feeling a little bit down, someone always comes along, who doesn't know I'm feeling down, and just says something that makes me properr smile. And they never how much their words, though trivial, have affected me.

Goshh that sounds so lame and convoluted. But whatever, it's true.

I hope I've had that effect on someone...

"My test is on the 2nd"

"What time is it?"

"11.11"

"Ooh, thats a good sign! that's very symmetrical

and it looks like 2 people with their hands up going YAY

you and your instructor!"

Brilliant :)

Poetical.

Here's something I wrote a couple of months ago.
Its unnamed. Sighh. Story of my life.

Everyone's a writer,
Everything's a writer.
The sky tells a tale with its rich and breathtaking hues
And a bridge offers a short story with its astounding views
and when we write, we write all the things we can't say out loud,
we whisper them into existence
with the pen as our instrument
and when the words ooze onto the page
they scream our pain
they cry our frustrations
they accompany us down memory lane
They stare back at us
Look us dead in the eye, as if to say,
Yes, I'm what you just scrawled and scribbled
and yes with me you can tweak and twiddle
But I'm here.
Back into the pen I cannot be sucked.
I am words. I am your words.
And when we close the book,
or scrunch up the piece of paper
or tuck it somewhere never to be discovered,
we feel relief because we've got something off our chest
whether good or bad, ground-breaking or insignificant
when the pen gets put down, something is different.
Everyone's a writer, we write to get by.