{Natielle Robbin}{D2}{WIP}

{Natielle Robbin}{D2}{WIP} Sept 7, 2013 6:56:55 GMT -5

Post by Dreams on Sept 7, 2013 6:56:55 GMT -5

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sometimes i feel
like being me
will
never
be good enough

sometimes i think
that loving myself
is
really
just too much

and all the
words
crash
around me
they build up

and break down
but one voice stays
true
and it tells me
you are gonna be you

so i'm gonna
love my
imperfections
gonna be prideful
of my flaws

gonna be myself
don't care what
anybody thinks at all
i'm gonna flash my belmishes
'cause that's what make me unique

i look into the mirror
what do i see?
my own
depressed face
staring back at me

and as the tears fall
i realize
they're the worst kind
'cause i barely did anything
at all

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I sigh, staring out at the deep midnight sky. The stars are shining so bright. But why can't I? I back away from the window and look around at my room.

Pictures are faintly outlined by the moon, their intricate frames glowing. They held family and friends. One of the only things in life that made me happy. I jumped into my chair, the back bending furiously under the momentum. The wheels absorbed most of the force and sent me rolling backwards, but I placed my foot down. I came to a gradual halt, then wheeled myself back up to my desk.

A bright light appeared as I flicked the lamp switch. I blinked my wide eyes, looking away. In the dark abyss of my mind, I saw spots of purple, suggesting that that light was much to brilliant this late in the night. Yeah, no way, captain obvious.

I picked up a pencil, spinning it in my long, delicate hand. I was like that. Tall, 6'0. I hated being it. But I guess life can't be perfect? The graphite contacted the paper and my small letters started to form.

Yeah, I guess I have a charmed life. A loving and wealthy family, an awesome clique of friends, a safe and supportive community. Everything seems just fine.

But is it too much to ask for no feelings at all? No heartbreak, no self consciousness, no giving a crap for what other people think. Because that would definitely be nice. I just wish... I wish I could be anyone but myself.

I blink my eyes, feeling tears starting to well up. I clenched my hand around my pencil, as if it could keep out the pain. I resume, because if I didn't, I would have a crying session randomly in front of my friends or family. And this was a personal problem.

My dad insists I'm pretty. Is that really true? Sometimes I actually believe it. Sometimes I do just to block the truth out. But every time he says the words, it pains me. It hurts more every time. So, thanks for that, Dad.

My friends say it too. That my eyes are a chocolate brown. That they're special. That they wish they had them. Thing is, I look into the mirror, and I see my plain brown eyes. Plain, worthless, and definitely not pretty or enviable. That's what I am, actually.

My hair is wild, with the same color frequency. My mom says I have natural red highlights, the most red she's ever seen. It's usually a frizzy mess I refuse to brush. It extends past my ribs, and I wish it was longer. Then maybe I could actually do something with it. I don't think that would make a difference, though.

I'm fat. I'm just going to say it out. I weigh 134 pounds. I would love for you to tell me that's normal. Just go ahead and try. I just wish I could cut off strips of fat. Then I can be normal like my friends, who actually keep a decent weight. Probably because I'm the only who doesn't train as a career.

[/i]

I sighed, rubbing my hands over my face. My life is horrible. I felt my eyes were moist, and tears were threatening to fall. I wanted to let it out, but I didn't.

Sometimes I feel like my friends hate me. And my family too. That they just pretend they like me so I feel better about myself. I know it's not true. But the faint voice still whispers in my ears. It tells me I'm hated by all, liked by none. That they just say they love me because they know they're all I have. I don't know why I feel this way. But for some reason I disgust in others' eyes. I hope it's just a trick of light. I hope.

At sleepovers we all have our girly gossips. Not that I'm that kind of person, it's just fun to listen in. Anyway, I had heard my name and pretty in the same sentence. I was stunned. Yet we got into a big argument. I finally got the guts to ask what they thought was pretty about me. My hair. Of course, that's not me. Apparently my eyes are chocolate and warm. Now that was a trick of light. We all looked into the mirror and I just whispered ugly. Like I always did. Not even my best friend's words were enough.

I felt the wetness roll down my cheeks. I let out a sniff and tried to smile. Just try to smile away the pain. But my face muscles didn't react and instead let out a small whimper. My body shook uncontrollably, my unsteady breathing rigid. I opened my mouth to cry out, but only a high pitched note of air was let out. The lump was blocking my throat, suffocating me with sadness. I hear tears thud on the paper. I continued, my hands trembling.

So that's why I wanted to start wearing makeup early. That's why no guys are interest in me. That's why I wish I hadn't built up such a cheerful reputation. That's why I say no to my friend's who offer piggybacks. That's why I feel nervous to go swimming. That's why I look down at my feet. That's why I feel like I can't be me. That's why I hate myself. Thanks for listening, if you even bothered to read this.

I folded the slip of paper and shoved it under my bed. I heard a small scratch as it collided with other notes just like it. I flicked my light off, tears still running. I crawled under my sheets but didn't feel the warmth I was expecting. And I'm pretty sure I wasn't going to get it anytime soon.
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