If I should ever let any outsider read of the mind's goings-on, surely I trust
enough to judge them not for what they might say after their eyes feast upon the
food spewed forth from the dark pits of the eternal chasms of my mind; but for
how much I have learned to trust in their discretion of my thoughts and feelings.
I am not mad ... just pissed. Call me not that like a woman driven insane
by rejection and hatred.
Call me Yin.
My pain and anger live deep inside of me, but I do not let them surface, save the
few instances when I am alone. Pain will not run my life, but it does dwell
inside my shell of emotions and masks.
When I find another way to release my internal demons, then I shall truly be free.
Until then, however, the chains -- though invisible -- remain at my heart
and eyes. My mind, in solitary confinement. Punishment due for past
mistakes and prior misjudgements.
Hey, but atleast I'm still human, right?