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.

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