just because you paint a picture doesn't mean it fits the frame.

Honesty.

I would not love a daughter as much as a son.

I'm still as impatient as I was when I was five.

I prefer productivity to diplomacy and don't believe they always run hand in hand.

It takes me an hour to choose a book.

I'm saddest when leaves fall and grumpiest when snow melts.

I bite my nails and crack every joint possible.

I get goose bumps when I hurt or see something beautiful.

I hate falling and things that crawl and elitist, social glamour that makes room for me but not a perfectly amusing peer seated mere chairs away.

I'm annoyed by innocence, my respect is soley for those who've overcome.

I skip private time with God when I've recently lied.

I love politics more when it's obviously crooked, and would only live outside of the US for the perk of enjoying with out experiencing the consequences.

I look down on someone once they voice a disdain for reading or school.

I have too many secrets and moments of bad character to ever tell one person.

I love. God, myself, my friends, those I look up to and those I feel better than. With out limits, with out end, with out logic. I love the things I hate; the things that make me weak. I love my puzzle of a life and how it continuously proves that you can't force two pieces to fit. I love the piece that fits mine; the wave that crashes in to my shore and seeps up to my heart and pulls me out in to a pool of boundless melody. I love hollywood; I love the gutter. I love the damned and the mystery of eternity. I love bumps and smooth sailing; foreign cultures and childhood familiarity. I love reached goals and broken dreams.

I'm not enough;

I never will be.

But the realization is.