I can say everything I want to say without using any big, ten cent words. I can probably convey exactly the way you feel, too, with my elementary vocabulary. And you’ll say to me that somehow I put your very own thoughts into words and onto paper, and I will laugh and smile and tell you that’s just what I was hoping my writing would do. But really I want those thoughts and feelings to myself. Really I don’t always want to know that someone else feels exactly the way I feel. That means those feelings weren’t mine, and I’m just another sniffling baby reaching out her arms asking for somebody to hold her, somebody to love her. Somebody care.
I walk around in public with a permanent frown on my face, because I don’t want unwanted strangers to approach me or for them to think that they can. You know what this does for me? Nothing, nothing but perpetuate a foul mood that has been festering for far too long now. The creases I can feel being held on my face go much deeper than the skin, and it’s getting harder and harder to let a smile slip in. I think, no, I know, that really things should be the opposite of that. A smile and some laughter are infectious even to the most angry soul, I’ve been told this before and have felt it to be true…But what if the angry soul is you?
Some people that don’t know me all that well have assumed that I am just smiley and happy all the time. I think, though, that my acting is getting worse. And the funniest thing is there aren’t many reasons for me to be anything other than pleasant and content at the very least. Routine is getting boring while motivation & inspiration are lackluster and few and far between…but still? It shouldn’t be so damn hard to find enjoyment in the little things. The little things I always used to tell people about, when they were down and out, like a new set of my favorite pens or the way a newspaper smells. Cracking open a new notebook, or being shown a good photo of yourself that someone else took.
I don’t need someone to coddle me, I don’t need to be doing anything fun or interesting in order to enjoy myself. But I’ve read some of my old poetry and a part of me sure sounds like a whiny little baby. (See above). I need to go dancing, and I need to reinvest myself in acting. I more than likely need to get a lot more than a little sun, and as far as a poem goes…I think I’m done.
OMfg i was in starbucks and i saw this girl with pink hair and a shirt with an inverted cross on it and i hissed “hipster blogger” and she hissed back because she was actually a snake haha what’s a SNAKe doing in star bucks? i only have 60 followes