I'm just a child.

It's late. I'm tired. I still gotta clean. But I wanna write. My emotions are running quietly within the humming of the computer and unique sound of A Guy Called Eddy. Being alone makes me question my independence-y. Without the rents here, things are a mess, and I know not of my responsibilities. Procrastination gets the best of me, sleeping late is unavoidable, sleeping in's becoming a habit. I don't feel good about myself. How much more will it be when I'm on my own? I feel like a Godamn baby. I do. I little kid crying, kicking and screaming on the cold tiled floor. A stupid toddler who needs a hand to hold. A child whining for candy. What will I prove to anybody? To myself? I need a fuckin ruler to show me how to get my priorities straight? I need a fuckin time-stop for clock management? I need to grow some inches. Not wear some tall ass heels to show that I've grown. I want the real thing. I wanna be the real thing.