"We build too many walls and not enough bridges."

I could have wrote something poetic, but I just couldn’t think straight. All the lines were there but unorganized to the point where I couldn’t even process what I was trying to portray. It might of had to do with describing those pretty hazel eyes but that was always his line, not mine. Could of had to do with the man I met but never knew. The fact that he never got to see the end of this war just like I will never get to know who he was. Might have been a story of a post anxiety attack, a mental breakdown and how I realized I was much better than it. Including my newly found self confidence, poise I only used to see in others I envied, brought on by reaching a sought out goal and receiving continuous praise that slapped me in the face out of love because I wouldn’t accept it. Should have been about how I can’t stand that I love being loved but won’t give the same love back because I don’t know how it could be appropriate without leading them on. Definitely would have been about a temporary neglect of friendship due to reasons I felt selfish yet I proclaimed I understood while somehow genuinely learning to understand.  I felt I should never confess how I see those around me as less intellectual, not in an arrogant way but in a way that contributes to my subconscious desire to alienate myself. I knew I would never again write a poem about a boy, and I stress boy despite the appearance of being a man, who’s arrogance to which I lacked proved to be the motivation I needed to realize my self worth. How despite being insanely in love with an idea I didn’t want to admit I could not ever picture correctly, am now incredibly embarrassed and angry. I wish I could explain how I need someone who incorporates my mentality, emotional capabilities, comfort, appeal, and humor without taking advantage of my willingness to bend so as I do not break. Could I even describe how each individual I choose to nag at for attention and affection gives me satisfaction of one of my criteria but never all? If I did, I would have to imply that I am grateful so as not to feel guilty for receiving anything I want. Is this possible or perhaps do I need to begin writing a novel?