Author: Pickingupthepieces PM
About desperation. It's something of a mixture between fiction and non-fiction. Contains some original poetry.Rated: Fiction T - English - Angst/Poetry - Words: 427 - Favs: 1 - Published: 10-24-11 - Status: Complete - id: 2963958
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Desperation. She hates that feeling with all her might. Yet, it allows her to see the world clearly, for what it really is: a cold, cruel place. And it also allows her to realise her place in it. Only while experiencing it can she really see who she is: a blank figure, whose emotions mean nothing (absolutely nothing) to the world, to the stupid authorities. It is in desperation that she recognises that she is but one in many. It makes her hate the world and what it has become. No, what it is, because it has always been this way.
"They look at me with sympathy
and offer me advice.
As if they expect me to oversee
the fact that I am meaningless in their eyes.
Why can't they understand, why can't they see
what the world is like for me?"
Even that is bearable, because she knows that soon, it will get better. The world will not become any happier, but she knows that there will soon come a time when she will be able to momentarily forget the dreary sorrows of life. Even when experiencing that terrible, horrendous feeling of desperation she knows, in the back of her mind, that there will be better times before they are overcome by that wretched sensation again.
What really gets to her, though, is the advice people offer to her. The meaningless advice that they surely know will not help. They think it's just a phase, that she's being vain, that everything that she's going through is insignificant compared to people fighting for their lives in war, or spending them in poverty. This makes her feel guilty, but she doesn't think that she's cold-blooded. Could she be wrong? She just knows that the pain makes her ache. Maybe not as much as a deprived and impoverished orphan from a developing country or as much as a soldier in the war, but it makes her ache all the same. Is she being ungrateful?
"Slumped against the cold, grey cement,
I lay silently and mope
about my predicament,
and slowly, I dare to hope.
Bask in the irony
and how clichéd this may sound,
but hoping really rescued me
from the misery in which I was drowned.
Even though hopes and dreams may not come true,
and never seem to go according to plan.
But here is what I want to leave with you,
and I hope you understand:
Hope does not help in survival,
but it does help you survive."