Je t'aime, but C'este la vie.

I wish I could just shut off emotions like you. The disappointment, for the second time, is crushing. So selfish, yes, to want to see you. At all costs, really. I miss you, and this weekend was supposed to be fantastic. A break from the monotony or our lives. Oh well, since there is nothing I can to do to change it, I must accept and stop dwelling. C'este la vie. Such is life.

"Gonna hold ya, gonna kiss you in my arms. Gonna take you, away from home." I have developed the great habit of optimism, and self improvement. I'll see my many flaws and work to improve. I'm proud of that, more than anything. And I have tried to stop giving advice and start taking it. I have been high and mighty for a while and never noticed. Like all other teens, I believe I am wiser than my age. And although I still hope it to be true, the odds are that this is my delusion.

I hope to stop hoping. I frequently get let down some way or another. I have learned to grow from every bad experience, so from this I will extract that disappointment is everywhere, and hope for the best, prepare for the worst. I talk about hope so much, I wonder why that is. It must be what keeps me going. From my past and current place in life, I should be unhappy. Fortunately I have medication to ease the pain, and idealism to help me hope. I would love to show people the bright side, make them see there's a lot more than just the let downs. Maybe someday they'll learn<3

Are you happy now?

"Could you look me in the eye? Would you look me in the eye? I've had all that I can take. And I'm not about to break, 'cause I'm happy now."

The more I put if off the harder it gets. Spoken like a true procrastinator. I want to just sleep this off, all the feeling. To ignore and deny it. But I have seen that this does more damage than good. I can imagine just glancing into my mirror, watching it crack slowly, then shatter. Like this whole house is being eaten away, burnt and eroded. The walls crumbling like mine. Both seem to be falling down, after so long. I had forgotten how I feel. It's frightening.

Putting all my eggs in one basket. My trust is my downfall, but I don't care anymore. Too late to let go.

Too late to let you go, no.
Breaking the mold, oh.
Forget the people.
Please be real.
Too soon for how to feel.
My fair prize. The right price.
Warmer nights feeling fine.
Answer why, do I sigh?
When I think of it, elaborate, my demise.

Sometimes things are off.
That touch is much too soft.
I want to show you what I am.
And I've become.
Would you regret the hopes I've strung?
For my demise.
Those sweet eyes.
Compromise.
In slight disguise.
I'll recognize
The anxious stirrings in my mind.

Run Dry.

I wish you'd just see me. I hint every minute. Every second, a change in attitude. A shift. I wish to GOD you'd notice. That I'm crying on the other side of this computer, like I've been bawling inside. Putting on a happy face, as always. Tell me it's okay. That you love me. Hold me. Please I'm begging you, save me from my facade.

I'm so scared of myself. The minute you tell me I'm not helping people, I feel no purpose. I want to cut again, or jump off my roof. I'm sorry. For not being strong enough or good enough. These tears roll off my cheeks. They're blinding.

When will I be able to tell you? When I can pull of the mask, show my weaknesses, and let the wall down?

It is time for change, in myself. This time I mean it. The image of my aunt, my role model, is ingrained in my head. She has arthritis in her legs, and still she got up every morning. Even when her knees locked up, she would go in to work and never complain. My grandmother is proud of her. I someday will be like that, strong and admirable. I have so many people pushing me forward and helping me along. I feel I don't deserve their care, but thank them graciously nonetheless. I will change and be the one who inspires people to do great things, to be a better person.

I am realizing there is more than just me. And someday maybe I can accept myself. Who knows? Maybe my dad will too eventually. The self loathing is drained. You drive me forward, and give me hope for a change.

"Another day and you've had your fill of sinking. All the life held in your hands are shaking cold. These hands are mine to hold, speak to me. When all you've got to keep is strong, move along, move along like I know you do. And even when your hope is gone, move along, move along just to make it through..."

A Different Kind of Pain.

"If it takes my whole damn life I'll make this up to you. Kind of like the waves. That roll their whole life towards somewhere. Crashing on the shore. It's blown in by the wind. That carries the clouds to hide. My wish on a fallen star."

I'm so full of life. An incomprehensible emotion. Some vault deep inside this lone soul finally broke. This explosion causes my heart to race, my mind to stretch and find new meaning. I want to share this, bottle this hope. That must be the word, hope. It's like light, like sun rays streaming through shutters. It mixes tiny motes of dust in the warm air. It makes all the troubles melt away like chocolate. I want to help you all, ha. With all my heart, so full and beating, I want to give it to you. To save you, and tell you you're loved. No matter what you've done or seen. Who you are, where. I am here, like a candle. Lit and waiting. Why is it so hard for me to give my all? Why is it wrong? I am but a stranger; someone you've never met. Why is it so difficult to trust, and accept a hand waiting, begging to help you up? I am dying to hand off this whole mind and heart of naive happiness.

The irony is ridiculous. Listening to a heartbreak song, my head pounding with a headache, with no sleep and an empty stomach. I should be upset, or at least uncomfortable. Instead, I want to be a martyr for anyone. I would love someone to hold on to. Not someone really, a certain someone. I crave a pair of arms and a soft chest. I wish to give my all, to do absolutely everything for someone. Even if it ended in chaos the last time, when I gave him my heart on a string and he stabbed it willingly. I'm not the type to be cautious or careful with myself. I could care less right now if anyone or everyone screwed me over. I remain naive as always. And I don't want to change.

Hope is like a softly played piano. Or a dirty child sprawled out on snowing street. It is so sad, so cruel. But nothing could be so good either. Because without it, where would we be?

Blank Page.

My thoughts are a bit blurred; a frenzied night of music, drinks, smoke and smiling. I'm sore as a sailor, and alone a little. Wish you'd see me, Strange Place. I've developed an attraction, more of a infatuation. Or infection.
I desire deep pain. Listening to sad songs and hoping I could shed a few tears. Not for any valid reason. I just miss depression so much. This numbness consumes my thoughts and ensnares my feelings. I would rather feel pain than nothing at all.
Wish granted now. I'm pitifully envious. I hate everything about me, every single aspect. My selfishness, my sadness, my idiocy. My fat, my cheeks, my nose, lips, eyes, EVERYTHING. And I hate myself for hating myself. I'm just chasing my tail here, no point in it. But when these beautiful girls flaunt their looks, their talents, I feel useless.What's the point if I can never be that good? Why even try?

The point. The point is to be better, no matter what. Always improving, even if it kills me. I know I'll never meet my own standards, set up by my father. If only. I will become a blank page, absorbing the color and light around me.