Yack it out.

The fine art of talking has always eluded me. It has made me land in deep shit, sound rude when all I meant was a joke, sound over indulgent, sound over friendly and has led to create a lot of misconceptions about me and of course at times made me look too available.

But the thing that I don't get is, whats wrong? And whatever is wrong, is it wrong with me or the way people think? Am I blameworthy in the statues of the world?

I sometimes blame the place I was educated in. 

Sometimes myself for being carefree.

Sometimes I wonder if I'm a helpless desperate asshole of some kind.

What ever the scenario, I have just realized that my thinking capacity is not at the level where I think it should be. 

The fault actually I think lies with the trauma that I was born too lively. And the liveliness that's a part of me is giving me loads of trouble keeping off people and things. 

I just fuckin' don't seem to get how to be formal and friendly and warm at the same time not make myself look like a wannabe bitch.

I really wish time teaches me how to talk. And behave myself. And conduct myself properly, so that I dont embarrass the ones I represent in society. The beautiful people in my life I cherish should not be lost to me for this...
O God. Please.

Peace.

I know why the Caged Bird sings.

The free bird leaps
on the back of the wind
and floats downstream
till the current ends
and dips his wings
in the orange sun rays
and dares to claim the sky.

But a bird that stalks
down his narrow cage
can seldom see through
his bars of rage
his wings are clipped and
his feet are tied
so he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings
with fearful trill
of the things unknown
but longed for still
and is tune is heard
on the distant hillfor the caged bird
sings of freedom

The free bird thinks of another breeze
an the trade winds soft through the sighing trees
and the fat worms waiting on a dawn-bright lawn
and he names the sky his own.

But a caged bird stands on the grave of dreams
his shadow shouts on a nightmare scream
his wings are clipped and his feet are tied
so he opens his throat to sing

The caged bird sings
with a fearful trill
of things unknown
but longed for still
and his tune is heard
on the distant hill
for the caged bird
sings of freedom. 

-Maya Angelou