X-mas.

Christmastime is coming,
And I have never been so unprepared
For everything.
I have to make myself look good for my girlfriend.
I have to shop for presents.
I have to care.
I have to make myself look a bit happier.
This is quite unfortunate.
A young man is compiling a group of poems in a book
For his family and friends
Because they care about him.

When I write, I do not write for anyone else besides myself
(Even though I secretly wish to be known by the world
Without criticism).

I don't write because I am happy.
Sentences and paragraphs created while having joyous feelings
Are meaningless
Because the feelings of happiness are all that matter
Not the words written during those times.
The words will never be a good representation of those feelings.
As I am sad, I can write.
My thoughts become solid, understandable thoughts on the page
When in my head they were mixed and assorted.
Now they are organized!
Now YOU can read them!

If man were to write forever, he would never be able to clearly represent his thoughts
Because thoughts and words are not precisely translatable.
Even if man used every language in existence
There is a language that we use in our minds
To speak to other minds,
To speak to ourselves,
That is not transmittable through pen and pad.

Now that it is Christmastime, I am realizing
How pointless this all is
If I can't even get my thoughts across.