I can’t tell you how often I find myself going crazy over things in my head that echo like one small voice to a thousand others with the same, twisted pain.
Let it be proclaimed to the universe that I am beyond grateful for being carefully and wonderfully made by the Potter’s hands… But I am tired of being ichura-zoned.
I have worked hard all my life trying to divert the attention from my good genes (which, by the way, I have no reason or right whatsoever to take credit for) to my generally-interesting-moderately-peculiar personality or the things I’m actually pretty good at, but people somehow still end up seeing me as just another pretty face.
I’M NOT EVEN THAT PRETTY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I’ m such a stranger to their world.
When I was younger I would think that maybe, I just wasn’t surrounded with the right kind of people; that feeling lost will eventually find its way out of my system. I went about my days unscathed by my indifference because I thought the time will come when I’ll eventually find people, someone, anyone, who can make life pass by a little less hazy than how it has been the past few years.
You probably don’t even like the kind of music that I love. I know, because no one does. I lack this sense of belongingness that people get from having the same kind of genre, interest, or whatever humanly bond we’re supposed to achieve in this lifetime through similarity. I lack that. And I doubt that lacking will ever be filled.
Today, as most others, I listen to the blues fill the gaps in between these walls that I have so comfortably sheltered myself with.
Today, as most others, I feel like a stranger in this world.
Today, as all that have passed, the sun set quietly – its first for new month.
Today, as all that have passed, I have no control whatsoever as to who they are, how the world is, or how it will be.
And so today, as most others, I forgive myself and let go of the things I cannot change or become part of.
Tomorrow’s another today.
A society that caters only to the already privileged. What a sad reality.
It just keeps replaying in my head, along with some line from a song that I don’t even know the title of, "She keeps me warm, she keeps me wa-ah-ah-ahrm…”
I could tell you about it, moment per moment - count you the many times he wrinkled his forehead, describe how the tears fell from my eyes as freely as the rains from the sky, but heartache is all the same tortuous even without details so I’d much rather not.
Quite a storm, indeed.
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