My life is a story of how I wasn't meant to be raised

Im in search of somewhere I belong.
like it hasn't been coming this long for me to figure out the correct pattern, formation of those words.

Wish I had a nice cellphone that would let me blog on the go.
I lose a lot of my thoughts to time spent on the highway.

Because I was thinking about love. And fitting in. And what it means to
sell yourself out in order to be loved.
Or at least liked.

Working twice as hard to only get half as far. As myself mostly.

Is it a problem that I overwhelm people in all aspects?
I have a she that claims it's a problem for her.
Another she says I act up a lot.
But how can you reject someone speaking with their own tongue?

For one second that Saturday night I went black.
A ting of dread spawned tendrils impaling my mind, like a tapeworm burrowing further into my system.
I want to write what I thought about, but it seems too early to disclose.
And that is a true shame that foreshadows a growing threat:

I can't even tell a secret in my public vault.

Later Days, Longer Nights