He wants people to see him as wise,
because he’s afraid he’s not.
He makes himself seem important,
because he fears he’s insignificant.
because he’s afraid he has nothing to say.
He is silent,
because he’s afraid he doesn’t have the words.
He is scared,
because he thinks this is it.
He finds peace,
In the sharing of life.
He worries he can’t be loved,
because he doesn’t love anybody.
He knows he’s right,
because he’s not sure anyone can be.
He is lost,
because he cannot decide if he wants to be found.
He makes life difficult,
because he’s afraid it’s not.
He pretends he doesn’t care,
because inside it’s killing him.
He hopes people say that he always tried,
Because, in the end, he always does.
Thomas Tuoti just moved and has no TV, couch, or internet in-home at the moment. He did, however, invest in a stereo system, so that's something. There is exactly one bed, one guitar, one dresser, one painting (a copy of Dali's "The Persistence of Memory"), one dreamcatcher that he got in second grade for good behavior, and a tea box in his bedroom. There are also a certain number of books and clothes scattered about. At any given moment, especially when writing is occurring, there may also be a teapot which probably contains Earl Grey. He may share reluctantly if you ask politely.