let lemons be angry

I don't know why people say they're scared of me, because actually I'm such a pushover. I annoy myself with my timidity. I tell myself not to give in easily, the way i tell everyone else to fight for their rights and stand their ground. But i can't help it. I almost bought a pair of shoes that didn't fit because the saleslady was rapid and stressed out and had stretched the shoes for me. I didn't buy them because my mother shook me out of my agreeable daze in time. I know I've made many unwise purchases that way. Any salesperson who's very nice or very nasty can get money out of me.

And I find it immensely difficult to leave a gathering when i want to. These days I insist though, and think of it as a great achievement. Actually nobody really cares if i leave before they do; we all see each other two days later anyway.

And i can't bear to tell the truth when it matters, as if i'm afraid that my own words will crawl out of my throat and bite me with their razor teeth. I tell people i never lie and that's true. I tell people I like to be frank and that's true too. But i'm only frank when i tell you you're beautiful, while i may never tell you that you made me angry at such and such a time. I say only the frivolous words, while the situations that words were created to solve go untalked-through.

I think things have to change. I have to learn how to control my tongue, as the endless studies on james say, but to use it more, not to hold it.