Black Eyeliner

October 4, 2006

I, Amber Caylenn am not beautiful, inside, nor out. I am 13 years old. I have long, black hair and piercing blue eyes. I don't wear cute, frilly things. I wear black. And black only. I go to Raymond Middle school. I don't have friends. Everyone thinks I'm a freak for cutting. They see the scars. The scars hurt. Mentally. For our English class, we must write about our week, our lives, anything that's going on.

My love is writing. I write everything. I write about me…about my stories. My fears. I will tell you my story.

I was born in Oregon by the lake. We lived there for 8 years. But then my mom died. We moved away. Leaving memories of love behind. Leaving my mom. My dad…he's never home. Doesn't care about me, life, or anything. He stays out all night and comes home wasted. His brown eyes tell it all. He doesn't love me. He doesn't want to live. The life he's living….means nothing to him. Nothing to me. I look in the mirror everyday. How I hate the face staring back at me. The black hair, the sad blue eyes screaming but makes no sound. I wish every night for a new life. A new image. I wake up. Nothing. I feel like crying everyday. At school, no one cares. At home…no one cares. I don't even think I care anymore. Today at school, Beverly, a girl holds a plastic knife up to me at lunch. She asks if I want to cut. Yes…yes I do. I look away. She stares with the image of self insecurity on her face. Her green eyes mock her own soul. She looks away as if my eyes beat hers in a low self esteem scale. She walks away. Her long blonde hair is streaming behind her. A boy comes up to me…he wants to comfort me. I don't want sympathy. I don't want tears cried over me. I don't want people to think about me. Who am I to lie to myself? I've gotten so good at telling people that I'm okay and that I don't need them, that I almost believe myself sometimes. Its not true. ' I need you! I want you!' my heart screams…either no one listens, or I make no sound. If only people could hear what I am not saying out loud, what I am not saying so the world can hear. What would they do then? Would we hear other cries of sorrow? Or are everyone's sorrows hidden deep, muffled by the beat of their hearts? Covered by the sounds of wailing or scorns. No one can hear my deep pain.

Only me…

And that is the only person that I have.