PROSE TEIM. \o/ I've been having so much writer's block lately it's not even funny. So if I can't get a story done, I thought it'd be nice to write some non-poetry for a moment just to get those gears working again. Sooo here's a random rant. Wheeeeee.
I doubt that there is anyone on this earth more hypocritical than I am.
Not a year ago, I was begging the universe to tell me what they think of me rather than ignoring me. Even if I was utterly despised, I felt I had the right to know. But instead everyone around me looked through me and walked over me, and I could never pinpoint who was repulsed by me, who I had to spare the trouble of seeing my face. And so I assumed that no one wanted to look at me. And so I hid from everyone.
Things have changed since then. People have come into my life, people who have proven their willingness to go out of their way to be with me. And on occasion, they even tell me what I mean to them.
However, I can't seem to appreciate these words as much as I once expected. And I can't believe I've sunk this low; this is what I've been asking for since the beginning. But they've told me things I wasn't ready to hear. And to the naked eye, anyone should be flattered to be seen in such a way. But of course I have to twist everything around.
People seem to be protective of me. And it's something I should be grateful for. But I'm not. The way everyone speaks to me as though I'm too innocent to be tainted and have to be shielded from anything that could possibly harm me. Innocence is what I strive for. But there comes a point where it's as if that's all I am to them. A simple porcelain doll. Beautiful, hollow, and fragile. If I'm dropped or moved or so much as touched, I'll shatter.
So here I am at the keyboard attempting to sort out my thoughts and make them presentable to someone or another. Hopefully someone out there will see that this is not who I am. I'm well aware that I sound exactly like a child trying to rebel. And perhaps when it comes down to it, that's exactly what I am. But better a rebellious, foolish child than a hollow, glass decoration. There is something inside of me. It's my fault for hiding it, I know. But there is something there. If someone would only let me into a situation in which I could be hurt, whoever it is could see that I won't just shatter. Of course I may crack. But I am strong enough to put myself back together. And I know that if someone cares enough to keep me from shattering, someone cares enough to make sure I don't need to pick up the pieces alone.
I may not be making any sense at all. But here's the thing. I'm fine with innocence. But innocence is nowhere near the same as weakness. I'm human. I laugh with friends. I cry alone. People cry with me. I lock myself away to listen to music. I dream about saving the world. I sit in my room wondering if I'll have my first kiss by the time I'm 40. I feel bad for feeling bad when there are others who must feel worse than I do. I start off with structured thoughts and then forget where I'm going. I bruise. I bleed. I heal. I live. I'm not perfect. I know that there are things that can break me. I know I'll hate being broken. But as a hero of mine once said, "better a broken heart than no heart at all."
And I must take my hypocrisy back into account. I don't mean to be angry with anyone. I love everyone who even tries to notice my existence with all my heart and I would not trade any one of you for anything. But if you know me and you're reading this. I just thought you might want to know.
Again, I'm really not making sense. I don't think I ever do really. But if this was the least bit informative, that's what counts. I at least got my thoughts out there. They're not quite sorted out. But they're out there.