To Withhold.

Workin' on it.
Trying to figure out what is going on in my own head.  Diving in deeply to dig through the dark.  Sometimes the lights get turned off, and no matter how cool it can be to walk around in the dark, and 'feel the night' as it were, I keep tripping over the garbage rolling around.  I am losing some sort of clarity, or needing to gain more clarity - one of the two.

Torn between.
In between.  I'm stuck here.  I am different fades and shades of these colors.  I am.  I am not.  I am.  I am not.  Maybe I took her from her mother too early.

Sometimes I deny anything ever happened and that there were no splinters or cracks in me at all.  But there are.  I see them.  I feel them.  I feel some of these gaps widening in the spaces of me.  Should there be any shell at all?  But raw exposed person...you cannot really exist...too eager, too open and innocent to be unhurt and unscathed by everything surrounding.

Let it work its magic on you.

When I was in middle school I argued with a teacher that when writing the word *its* as in *its green leaves* or something...I argued that the it was possessive, so *its* should have an apostrophe like any other noun possessing something.  I tried to get  her to tell me why I should not have possessive *its* written as *it's* but she couldn't really tell me.  She just said, 'That's how it is, and you need to deal with it.'
I was frustrated that I could have no why to quench my questioning.

I suppose I love to understand things to a great degree.
Where is your focus?  Is it on the right things?  I don't think they are all in order just yet.  I keep wavering again.  I keep tip toeing around the subject as if I'm going to break open a giant vase full of a liquid or substance I don't want to get out of the beautiful white carpet.  This mess is gonna stain...approach it gently and don't break open the canisters withholding the thoughts from you.