I made the songs that I wrote about you into something that I could hate; to face the mistakes that I made and be able to walk away without ever really facing anything. I'm a romantic only on paper. I spend my time penning words so that I don't have to feel the feelings that they mean when they are heard. See, I clench my teeth and bare my fists through every moment, just like my father did, the same way that he taught me. We all bite our tongues until they bleed, until we're forced to scream. Its the only time we ever break routine and actually let that passion out. My parents made it a habit to never settle down, so why change that now? Since moving out, I haven't planted my feet on solid ground for more than a year and I'm starting to feel uncomfortable here. Nine months is plenty of time to lose your mind and I feel like I haven't seen mine in such a long time. The monotony of this routine has been numbing me. This isn't who I want to be. So where does that leave me? Well, it leaves me writing questions down on loose leaf sheets, as if simply asking means answers might come to me. Like, is the writing still inspiring? Is the poetry cathartic, therapeutic, or me just making up excuses?