I hate going shopping for clothes.

 Especially at the mall.

the words are at the tip of my tongue,
not my fingers
how long will i keep sitting back and..looking up and.. breathing deep.. and
trying to ignore
this....
I am stuck at the point

I keep thinking about words. and their definitions. and how others view these words and their definitions. and how all these words and definitions affect my life, their life his her it x z i
11:11
wish: for my voice to match my appearance.

two  roads diverged in a yellow wood.

 And sorry, I could not travel both and be one traveler, long I stood. And looked down one as far as I could, to where it bent in the undergrowth.

Then took the other, just as fair, and having perhaps the better claim, because it was grassy and wanted wear; though, as for that the passing there, had worn them really about the same. 

And both, that morning equally lay in leaves no step had trodden black. Oh, I kept the first for another day!

Yet knowing how way leads on to way I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh somewhere ages and ages hence:

Two roads diverged in a wood,

and I—

I took the one less traveled by,

And that has made all the difference.

Robert Frost (1874–1963).  Mountain Interval.  1920