Friday, August 7, 2009

stand on the shoulders of giants.

Let this be the most i have ever disentangled. Up until just recently I realized I was looked at as about as hell bound as any young girl walking in this world, could ever come off as. I was full of fear, and everyone could see it- you could all read it on my face, how i stood still like a robot; hollow. the worry in my joints, in the curling of my toes praying for the sun to fade. you could see it in my fingers, and you could taste it in the hate that dripped thin from between my fingers. i was always way too stubborn and prideful to ever show any of it, even though you could read me like an open book. I was so unaware. I had spent a lot of time up in my own head, and diving into the minds of others for so long, weaving in and out of five o'clock traffic racing down freeways to put up a fight, or hold a friend back from one. I'm that girl that had the right words, wither they be right or wrong, they've always pushed people forward and never set them back. In my early years writing was my everything, my only escape. The only thing I felt I could do right. The only thing i ever really proclaimed to actually know and understand. Against all false pretenses, correct grammar and run on sentences meant nothing to me, comma splices and metaphors were the best of my friends.

I was always going places to feed my head. I was watching you and your friends at that party, or at that show. Watching every single move I could possibly stumble across. I was showing up late, or coming in early with pen in hand, jotting down your every reaction. I was that girl who pulled you aside when you were in tears, screaming at the sun, just to hear your story. I didn't care about you, it was apparent but I tried so hard to hide it. I never cared about what was really going on. I just wanted to run home and document your reaction. I needed real reactions, from real people. Making them up in my head, was something I could not fathom. So I set out everyday to find them, shoving myself into situations I would of never found myself, if I had not of been addicted to the look on someones face when someone died, the way their body collapsed over me and I rocked them in my arms, back to some sort of noticeable sanity. The look on someones face when someone felt and knew love, for both the first and last time. I was always there, when the juice spilled out like blood shed. I was hunting for the look on your face, when your boyfriend cheated on you with her, against all of your knowledge. The words that so quickly spilled from your mouth in rambles not even my pen could keep up with. Pen and paper began to fail me. Time and time again. People began to wonder what I was up too, why I was always scribbling things down. People stopped inviting me places, stopped asking me to tag along. "she's always writing in that damn book." and I was. I eventually put the book down. If i could just remember- take a mental picture, I would be alright. I began studying people again. Everywhere I went. Everyone, and everything I saw. I remembered. Even if it meant putting words on repeat in my head until I could find someway to get it down, out of my head- as i did.

I need to sort out my fears. I need to sort out who I was and who i am. I need all of this to make some sort of sense, to myself and myself alone. I'm tired of the girl I was verse the girl I used to used to be, verses who I am today.

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