Monday, September 10, 2012

She Is my All

I write ‘she’ instead of me. Instead of I. I find it easier to say, she wants to die. I find it easier to express how badly I’m hurt through someone else’s life that seems has some worth. See if I tell you that she’s beautiful, that’s the image you’ll be forced to see. But if I say I’m beautiful you’ll be stuck envisioning me. So I share my stories through a girl i’ve never seen.

 A girl that in many ways I have never been. I’ve described myself with a smile that I have never gleamed. With a purpose, with a wit, with morality, with a substance more anything, than I have ever dreamed. So I do write myself as me hypothetically except she - is honest. Is pure. She’s not sure of everything but she makes the best out of a bad situation. She is curious. Passionate. Intriguing. Delicate. She is mixed up, but very simplistic which she feels very few people will ever discover. She is more than her exterior.  She is misunderstood, sometimes genius, loving, but scared so she keeps her distance. For instance. Her first love lived approximately twenty-two hundred and six miles away. For millions of people they would be physically and emotionally starved, but in fact. She was most comfortable like that. She wants to be held but doesn’t want to ask.

She wants to act on how she feels without moving too fast. She wants to please everyone, but she can’t so herself. So she puts on a mask and pretends to be strong, tries to blend in to seem like she belongs. But the truth of it all is that she will never blend in, she will never follow the pack, she will never be happy like that. She isn’t hopeless, but she’s still a stupid little girl sometimes who demands respect she shouldn’t get. She just requires something genuine because she has a void to fill. See, she can admit that, but I never will.

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