I told myself that I wouldn�t do this because everyone that I resent tell me to, but this is my only power�.my power of my language, my words. Lately there is only a word that describes me, frustrated. Nothing that I do is right, nothing that I am is right; nothing is ever �all right� in my life. My life is like hell, when one vicious cycle ends, another begins. The world moves faster than I can follow. Now I tell myself that I will write and only write. Never look back, only look to the blank pages a head of you. Carpe diem. Seize the day. Seize the moment. I try to live this, I try but I am not accepted in anything that I do. Perfection is a standard in which I have to life up to, no one sees me, only a face. My �perfection� or lack of is painfully obvious. Ten year old boys can tell me what�s wrong before I can. They use words like freak, s**t, b***h, w***e, emo and many others to label me; to see me. No one takes the time to look in. They see what they want to and ignore everything else. Perfection is a standard that I am always expected to see, want, and adore. All I am is not perfect. All of what people want is never who I really am. Will anyone really know me? Will anyone take the time not to judge in a glance? The other day I was judged over and over again. It hurts, to be on display for the world. I am told that being seen is something to be proud of but I don�t want to be seen, I want to hide and think for myself, without interruption, without perfection, without judgment. Sometimes I just want to hide and die, let the words of my tongue spill all around me. Maybe then people will understand. But even then I know they won�t. No one cares. In every relationship I have or ever had all other want are pieces of me, the pieces that make them feel better. I�m caught in the tangle of their webs, their lies, and their unfruitful friendships. No one cares. I look to god for answers only to look down again, He is supposed to give me strength when I am weak but I feel none. I only feel betrayal. He gives me blessings in my life but that�s not what I want. I want a companion, someone who truly cares. I want them to want to know, crave what I have to say, not only hear if but thrive off of it. I want my freedom! My independence! With ever boy that comes to me all they want is my face and my body, not one wants me. I am more than a face, I have a mind, I have a soul. Every boy wants me for sex, and when I say no they break my heart. They don�t seem to care. They decide that I�m not good enough. Not knowing that they only add to the echoes in my life. I am never perfect, I am never pretty, I am never beautiful, and I am nothing to them anymore. They use the piece of me that they want and leave the rest to pull its self back together without that. Pain and misery have come and gone. Bitterness can fill me. I let it. Sometimes I don�t care, let the world label me as they want to. But every time I come to this, I hear the echoes, they are no longer reseeded but in my ears. They scream to me that I am not worth anyone�s time. Who would care? Life is beautiful but ugly things inhibit it. I struggle for life. Only to have the ugliness tear me down, infect me, make me known. Everyone can see my disease, everyone recoils from it. Instead of holding my hand they take theirs away. Tears roll down my face as I write these few and short sentences. Calmness sweeps over me. I am lost on a sea of carelessness; I feel the wave�s caress. I life my eyes to the horizon, lift them to see the sun, leaving the darkness behind. Hoping, praying that someone will come. Hoping that life�..life�would take my hand, embrace me and not shy from my imperfections. I only hope as I drift. Never look back.
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