Sunday, August 21, 2011

A Poem of Sorts

I want a girl.
I want a girl
who’ll hold my hand when we walk sometimes.
Who understands me even half of the time,
and knows when I’m joking.
A common bond,
I just want to be recognized.
I don’t need a serious relationship,
but someone who’ll
accept me for who I am
would be nice.
Someone who wouldn’t just see
my outside figure,
but past the awkwardness
to my sense of humor,
my biting wit,
and my horrible self-consciousness.
I wish I were that humble.
I need someone to share stuff with.
Companionship would be great.
I’m not asking for a soulmate,
although that would be wonderful.
I just need someone…
to be there.

Friday, February 4, 2011

Feb. 4

Since I cannot discern as to why I haven’t given up yet, I’ve decided this is necessary. A list of all things bad:

  • I snore
  • I’m obese
  • I’m lazy
  • Walk too slowly
  • No boobs
  • Little friends
  • No more relationships
  • Kind of stupid
  • Talk too much
  • Whine too much
  • Emotionally detached
  • Asshole
  • No tact, little concern
  • Lame in groups
  • Pathetic
  • Can’t dance
  • Not a good listener
  • Always late
  • Lack the ability to fit in

I serve no contributive purpose at all. Might as well not even be here.

Jan. 22, 2011

I keep causing myself conflict. Self-hatred and acceptance makes me believe in the fact that I will be alone for the rest of my life. However, every once in a while, that concept loses grasp and I slip back in my make believe world of rainbows and acceptance and start to think like I used to, “when I have that…” You will NEVER have that.

You’re ugly: irreversibly so. You’re not fun to have around. People can barely stand you for more than a few hours. At least I’ve stopped letting my heart feel like it’s been ripped out whenever I think that. You can only beat down your soul for so long before it surrenders and freezes into some self-protectant creature, which is very similar to your “heart” freezing inside your body. No tears, no tears. I refuse. Cried my self dry over “Prayers for Bobby” at three this morning, and I swear, no more.

I sometimes have those moments during which I wonder why I was born at all. What purpose do I serve? I am kind of just a blob on the map; a blemish on an otherwise green and blue masterpiece. I’m glad the spec is too small for anyone to see. Me, a