she's a very strange girl, don't you know?

about myself.

likes the way bruises morph colour and the way her knees never heal.
likes putting plasters on herself because they tug at her skin when she moves as if to say ‘yup, still here, protecting your cut from nasty little pathogens’.
likes using big words and pronouncing them wrong, and likes using little words and pronouncing them how they should sound and not how they really do.
wakes up and looks in the mirror, then promptly spends ten minuets making it look like she has bed-hair.
wants her hair purple and blue and turquoise, or sometimes red.

never uses caps when she writes for fear of them bullying the other letters.
chews on the plectrums when she isn’t using them and spends an awful lot of time just sat with her guitar on her lap, not playing it.
used to collect stones because they looked nice, suddenly found herself weighed down.
she wears odd socks, odd gloves and odd shoe laces, always.
most of her tee shirts don’t fit her and she doesn’t care because they hide her shape and that’s what she wants.
she is cold to touch, likes to keep it that way, and can crack nearly all her joints.
she writes a lot of rubbish and occasionally something good but when she does no one takes notice.
she is constantly sorry and always lonely.
she is broken and not quite sure why.
she wants that boy to hurt her so she can be heartbroken and have a reason.
iv drips are her best friend and she loves the way hospitals smell.
sometimes she doesn’t do the work, sometimes she gets A*’s.
she doesn’t like hot weather and burning sun, and doesn’t like it when its too cold and she isn’t dressed right.
sometimes she wants tattoo’s, sometimes she wants to be left alone.
she doesn’t like it when its foggy because there are more people about than you can see.
if she stares at someone for long enough they start to leave a trail of light when they move and glowing all around them, and she isn’t quite sure what that is.

she has 26 bracelets and wears them spread over each wrist almost constantly.
sometimes she wears black and sometimes its colours.
some days her favourite colour is purple, others its blue, or red, or teal green, and sometimes it might even be mint.
sometimes its lilt, sometimes 7up and sometimes lemon fanta.
sometimes she can draw and sometimes she cant, sometimes she can sing and more often than not she gets it wrong.
sometimes she sits at the top of the stairs, sometimes she sits at the bottom, and sometimes she sits in the corner and cries.
some days her hands are covered in ink, others its paint, rarely its blood.
some days you can reach her, most says she is locked away.
sometimes is possibly her favourite word, along with diphthong and diphtheria because they are fun to say.
sometimes its ok to touch, and sometimes you really shouldn’t.
some days hugs are good, some days hugs make her burst into tears and she can’t tell you why.
sometimes there are slithers of paper hidden in the folds of her clothes, sometimes they are in her bed.
sometimes you love her, sometimes you hate her, and sometimes you hate her because everything she does makes you love her, even when she is trying to let you go.

sometimes i tell people this, and sometimes, i let them think i’m a very strange girl, but mostly, we get on with it.

Author's Note

i never use capitals unless i am describing shouting, its not laziness, im scared they'll look too harsh.
if i have spelt something wrong, i appologize.

Reviews

[Myk Malice]

i really enjoyed this piece. heartfelt full of emotion and introspect. very nice. sounds like my kinda girl.