I write and write,
Like my own little privite diary,
words sounding better on paper than in my head,
Things are easy to say when writen,
So much harder to say in reality,
i wish i didnt have to go back to reality,
I wish i could stay and type and type,
Write and write,
you think id run out of things to write,
things to say,
but i dont,
they keep coming,
like a river flowing,
i wish they understood,
somehow got me,
they dont,
im either happy little mia,
or just plain over dramatic,
never just normal,
never just perfect enough,
never seem good enough,
so i act and act,
hoping to get by,
hoping no one see's,
someday i say,
someday it will all change.
