Thesaurus Rex (virtuistic) wrote,
Thesaurus Rex

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it's a motherfucker...


Yeah, it's me. The one you look through. The scared little girl that is clutching to her pictures and her memories. The traumatized social reject. The girl with the long brown hair, hopeful deep brown eyes that used to look upon this world with optimism. You don't know me. You never did. Part of this was my fault. In my childishness, I needed to feel secure before I gave away my secrets. Before I let you know what I had seen, where I'd been. Instead I showed you what I wanted. My dreams, my goals, my desire to play and learn. I've always wanted to change the world for the better. Prove that humans are the intricate masterpieces that they are, and that each one should be appreciated and studied and understood - as I never was. Yes, it is still me. The girl who wanted to make the underdog realize that he was apreciated because she knows what it's like to be underestimated. The girl that wanted to make tears stop falling because she understands how it feels to cry rivers. You say I have sad eyes. Yes, I grew up seeing more pain than I probably should have. My attention focused on the unpopular students being ridiculed and cut down, on discrimination, on the sorrow of death, dying and war. As I learned I saw even more, I grew to the adolescent that wanted to evenly distribute wealth throughout the world and eliminate money, borders, and social class. Make full use of our medical knowledge, save lives. Work together harmoniously and peacefully, surrounded by art, beauty and appreciation. But you didn't even know that much about me. You don't know me as well as you think you do. You see me as the quirky skater girl who has a wicked sense of cynical humor. I can entertain you with my witty retorts, my zany antics that I use to disguise this girl. The real girl that you know nothing about. The real girl that you never bothered to ask about her past. The one with the nightmares, the one with the scars. You don't really want to know her, you don't want to deal with her baggage. She, in turn, doesn't want to burden you. However, being alone like this is killing me inside. Don't you see that? You look at me, look into my eyes and you tell me that I have sad eyes. You never ask why. Which is just as well becase I probably wouldn't tell. But it'd be nice to show that you cared. It would be nice to see your number on the caller id. But no, you leave me standing here, a frightened little girl holding onto nothing more than nostalgia. I have 3 months, and all I have is memories. And you'll never know me.
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