Post by Zuri Petteri on Nov 19, 2007 0:25:56 GMT -5
My Angel. Mon Ange. I don't know if I can ever stand hearing those words again. I may not be paralyzed, but...I just can't move. I can't bring myself to move on, because I'm not with you. I don't know if I ever will be, and it hurts. It hurts all the more to know that you're there, to hear people say you don't exist, just because they haven't seen you, and most importantly, to look around, see all the happy people, see the contact, the love, and not have anything physical I can share that with but a Teddy Bear.
I don't get to cuddle. I don't get to hold hands, or kiss. Of course there are those moments in time when a friend will sense things are off, and give me that hand to hold, but, it's still not the same. It hurts me to be with people who are so free in their sharing of love, and feel the need to obstain, to save what I have for the one I love most, and truest of all, yet, as each day passes, we grow farther apart, and despite my hardest attempts, you remain silent to my advances. I love you to ribbons, but...it hurts me so to lie here in tears, wishing I understood all the emotions I go through every day.
Some call it teenage angst, some call it 'emo', but where does one go with a heart full of love, and no where to put it? Some would tell me to dump him and move forward, and others would say, "I've seen how happy you are, just stick it out". The confusion in my mind is rampant, chaotic, violent in nature. I want to cry, but I just can't. I feel so numb. I need to be strong. Dad's never here, so it's up to me. I have to care for her, bring home the grades, pay the bills, do the shopping, do the homework, and where's the time for my enjoyment? In the art of dramtics I find my greatest of all pleasures, yet, I also find the greatest of all pains. Each and every single day, I'm confronted with the most welcoming and understanding of all groups of people, but outside of that place, the large building that has become not a home but a sancutary, I am alone.
The tears begin to well as the reality sinks in. Isolation and indiferance are all that I find. Wierd looks, whispered rumors, hatred, misunderstanding surround. People tell me I'm beautiful. The art within me is pure. Each kind word is like a dagger to one who feels so ugly. Why would someone claim to be something they're not. Why would someone lie, just to make themselves feel better. I am unaware of all these things, yet, deep down, I understand them. A vice is a vice is a vice indeed, but, one would do anything to escape the melancholia that derives from this solitude.
m
I don't get to cuddle. I don't get to hold hands, or kiss. Of course there are those moments in time when a friend will sense things are off, and give me that hand to hold, but, it's still not the same. It hurts me to be with people who are so free in their sharing of love, and feel the need to obstain, to save what I have for the one I love most, and truest of all, yet, as each day passes, we grow farther apart, and despite my hardest attempts, you remain silent to my advances. I love you to ribbons, but...it hurts me so to lie here in tears, wishing I understood all the emotions I go through every day.
Some call it teenage angst, some call it 'emo', but where does one go with a heart full of love, and no where to put it? Some would tell me to dump him and move forward, and others would say, "I've seen how happy you are, just stick it out". The confusion in my mind is rampant, chaotic, violent in nature. I want to cry, but I just can't. I feel so numb. I need to be strong. Dad's never here, so it's up to me. I have to care for her, bring home the grades, pay the bills, do the shopping, do the homework, and where's the time for my enjoyment? In the art of dramtics I find my greatest of all pleasures, yet, I also find the greatest of all pains. Each and every single day, I'm confronted with the most welcoming and understanding of all groups of people, but outside of that place, the large building that has become not a home but a sancutary, I am alone.
The tears begin to well as the reality sinks in. Isolation and indiferance are all that I find. Wierd looks, whispered rumors, hatred, misunderstanding surround. People tell me I'm beautiful. The art within me is pure. Each kind word is like a dagger to one who feels so ugly. Why would someone claim to be something they're not. Why would someone lie, just to make themselves feel better. I am unaware of all these things, yet, deep down, I understand them. A vice is a vice is a vice indeed, but, one would do anything to escape the melancholia that derives from this solitude.
m
