This Is What We Do

by, Cassandra

"Sarcasm dripping down the walls, and anger dusting every surface in sight. She bars the door with shards of broken promises, and shields the windows with shades of forsaken dreams. She wraps herself up in written words and the only time she verbalizes is when she screams out her pain to a deafened world."

To you, it's dark and dirty. To you, it's cold and lonely. To you, she's depressed and moody.

To her, you're callous and fake.

You see, she knows all about sunshine and butterflies. She knows what it's like to sink her toes into the sand and watch the tidal waves come rolling in. She understands what it feels like to dance in the moonlight and curl up in front of the fire on a cold winter night. She knows.

She's written it all before.

Did you think it's possible to write with feeling without feeling anything at all? Obviously, you've got a lot to learn.

She's flown on eagle wings. She's swam the deep blue sea. She's watched her blood drip to the floor. She's seen her tears mar her written words.

She's felt it.
She's lived it.
She is it.

As it's written, it becomes a part of the writer.

She carries it around in her heart, in her head, in her soul and in her eyes.

You'd see it if you looked a little harder.

You say she's missing out on life. You say she's wasting away in the dark. You say she needs to lighten up. You say you know what you're talking about.

But do you?

Have you ever put yourself in someone else's shoes?

Have you ever walked a mile as a runaway teen? Have you ever seen through the eyes of a heartbroken child? Have you ever felt the pain of a cutter? A loser? A broken and bruised street dweller?

You see, you think because you walk in the sun, and appreciate the starry night, that you're living. You think because you take every moment available to tell the ones you love that you love them, and dance the night away in a pair of expensive shoes, that you're living.

And maybe you are.

You're living for you.

But so is she.

She just prefers to get into the head of others. She wants to understand what makes someone feel the need to lie, or die, or cry. She wants to know what it's like to be on the other side.

She wants to understand.

Can you fault her for that?

She's felt it.
She's lived it.
She is it.

We're all it.

(we're hoping that writing out our pain will help alleviate someone else's pain, as well. we're writing to help people like you understand what goes on inside our heads. we're hoping you take the time to read, to think. we're hoping you let it sink in. we're hoping that you'll act where we can't.)

This is what we do.

So, what is it that you do?

(don't let this go to waste.)