at youth group this morning i was jumping onto couches, demanding pass words for entry, and laughing through my nose. and then i came home and left again, this time with all that energy spilling into instead of out of me.

my bed is full of books of poetry, but i am not a happy poet. i will never even make it as a poet, as a person. i feel fated to fail.

february has not been kind to me, to any of us.

when will it be warm again?