slamming my head against any hard surface before me.

at least my printmaking teacher likes me.  tonight she told me she loves my work because to her it seems like i have many stories to tell.  this is true, and i don't like telling them through speach, because no one listens...or i'm ether told to cut to the chase or just to stop "while i'm ahead."  i'm never ahead though, rather trailing behind.  to me, it's good, it's ok.  but somehow it doesn't work in this world.  not that i want it to work, i hate what our world is coming too.  lately i'm hating most of the people in this world.  i don't want to hate, i hate hate, but hate fills in all around me where love is not.  which isn't just cracks and crevasses anymore, yet seemingly canyons and oceans and even their hidden caves.

i will be happy one day when someone truly sees the good in me.  i'm sick of everyone only seeing the bad, therefore prohibiting myself of doing anything "right" in their eyes.

one day.