I'm not pretty. I'm nowhere near beautiful. People will act like I am. They'll act like I'm a good person. Trust my word, they're wrong. I'm not nice. Every one of my friends says I am. They're wrong. They say I'm always happy and crazy. They don't know they half of it. Everyday is hard, a struggle. Inside I feel as though I'm rotting. Heh. I'm even crying now. All I see in the mirror is a weak person, not unlike myself, who ties to be strong. I can't be strong. That's now how I was built. Every person has something bad going on, I know that. We all know that. But there is no one who knows how I feel. Some people would argue with that. Do I seem like everyone else? Does everyone have the same way of thinking? No. There are no two people who share the same problem. Each situation is different. So stop joking me around!! People will ask, "How do you feel?" "What happened?" "Is it bad?" or "Explain it for me." So I answer them. I'll let my heart out. The results are always the same. I end up feeling worse. People say I'm talented. They say my imagination is wonderful. No. I can't make anything that slightly resembles what it should be. Although everyone tries to build me up, I keep falling down. My facade can't last. This structure is weak. Soon the wood will decompose and rot away. I can't force any more weight on it. I've already damaged too much. Supports that have always been there have begun to fall. One of the most important parts is breaking. I'm scared. Do you expect perfection where imperfect clumps of mold exist? Nothing of myself is ever seen. I can't keep up this facade! It hurts. I'm never understood. The falling building has hurt those who I've trusted with my life. But do they realize, how much damage they were the cause of? I've tried to tell people my feelings. I wish I could!!!! Although I ignore some small scratches, they do build up. People that I'd give my life to protect have been slowly forcing more rot to form. Times change. People move on. But, nothing is forgotten. Structures may be repaired, but the old scars will always be visible.
© 2010 - 2020 Karasuflight
This is something I wrote when my mom pissed me off last week. I wrote it by hand originally, so I took a while to type. Oh, and the exact date would be this: 9/6/10, 12:01 am- 12:49 am.
If someone had told me
I wish someone had told me, why this world was made, why the flowers bloom, or why I can't feel happy. I wish someone had told me, somewhere a world wasn't made, somewhere flowers can't bloom, somewhere I can feel safe. I wish someone had told me, nothing can be changed, nothing is the same, nothing has true reason. I wish someone had told me, someone feels the same, someone knows these things, and someone is like me. I wish someone had told me! Why didn't someone tell me? No one could tell me, just how painful it was, just how dark it can be, or is it just not clear to me? If only someone had told me, it might not have