Digressing is not rebellious.

I'm selfish, tactless, and way too clumsy.
I don't trust a drop of earth, or the people
Who poison it, so; I'm full of thought, and
I lack sense. Books are my friends,
Paper and pencil are my get away lands.
I see the world as it really is: troubled.
I find it hard to control my anger,
and I think people are overly ignorant.
Over anaylistic and terrible with words,
I confine in cliche phrasing, quotes from
People who cheated and stole from minds.

I want to travel the world at large,
Try to find some niche not yet distroyed
By human hands; I want to stand
In a field of weeds, yellow, red, and orange.
I feel as though the sun understands me,
and people underestimate the art of thinking.
I like the look of lights at night, and the look
of expensive taste in decorations.
The sky is where I want to live;
The clouds a playful matress set up for me.

I feel as though love has let me down;
Men come and go like seasons,
I let them in and they tear me down.
I start to let go of my morals;
I feel like I am useless and faded, like
I will never be good enough for anyone.
I set standards high because I am afraid.
"There will be other people, stay strong."
Trusting is a new task for me, a treasure
Set, carved in stone; I cant reach it, ever.
It's not that I am too harsh and bitter:
I am just a wasted soul looking for a way out.

I want you to understand me, now.
I feel as though you let me down;
I feel you are inert and way too complicated:
I never got a chance at all, you see?
I can't make any one stay, and I cannot
Make the change of pace more quick;
I turn bits into shattered loss causes,
I complicated the littlest of taunted lies.
I feel confused, like I want you more,
But I also feel I hate you, like I want
You to act like we never met.
You want me to be sensible, darling:
I digress.