Meaningless Words

It’s not my fault. I’ve asked for help " I’ve led you right to it. I shouldn’t have to scream for someone to hear me.

The me that you know lives with her headphones on, drowning in music and bleeding caffeine. She writes more than she speaks, but the words that come out of her mouth mean a lot more than you think. She plays with words for a living. She won’t throw them around like a boomerang just to make things more interesting. 

The me that you don’t know rarely speaks, and when she does she talks in a language of riddles and lies. Your small talk questions have answers you don’t want to hear, so she won’t let you hear them. She’d rather invent an entire new life than tell you about her own. Luckily for her, she’s a magician at manipulating words.

This part of me is dark, intense, and too cynical to pass off as an odd sense of humor. It feels nothing like me, but it controls everything I know and do. It stops me from letting go. It reminds me of everything I try to forget. It’s always there.

I genuinely believe that I am the only person in the known universe that recognizes this side of me. It’s no secret, but it’s practically impossible to convince anyone that there’s something wrong with me. No matter what I do or how loudly I scream, someone is always there to step in and make an excuse.

She’s just being dramatic… It’s that time of the month…Don’t worry, it’s only a phase… 

You can’t say that I didn’t ask for help anymore. I led the world right to the inner workings of this haunted side of me and still it’s passed off as creativity.

The world has taken my vulnerability for granted. Words mean nothing anymore.