I was always the one crying. The crying girl. At class, at home, everywhere.

whatever you said, whatever you did, I was the one crying. crying my heart out because everything was more than i could stand. everything was more than i could handle.

crying because it was the only thing i had strength to do anymore.

oh, yes, i'm bitter. i'm bitter because i wasn't well kept and loved and taken care of and you normal chldren who had normal lives and normal parents would rule me out and pick at me and i didn't have the strenght to protect myself anymore, at school. because school was safe and school was okay and i think i was the only fucking kid who thought that way.

i mean, i had you all over me. at class, during the breaks and i had teachers yelling at me (because i wasn't normal, yeah) and i still did think it was better, safer than being home. i fucking hope that tells you something.

because i'm bitter and i'm tired and hatred is still a luxury to me.
and i still cry. not as much as before, not publicly anymore (mostly) 'cos now i have a little bit more energy and means to control myself, (it's not that i wouldn't want to give in).

and, yeah, i'm angry at all those little bastard who thought they were so much better than me just 'cos they could scream and talk and 'cos they had the strength i never had. and i'm angry 'cos they had others to lean on, others to count on and someone took care of them. they could trust on something. they could believe in something. their secrets weren't a heavy load on their shoulders. and they never had to worry about the lies.
because their hatred could be taken out and used and because they'll never have pink scars all over their arms and because they never have to care, they never have to feel it. and they never have to cry cos of it.

they don't have to deal with the damage they did to me, thay don't have to deal with the damage that existed already before they ever thought of me and picked on me. too damaged to protect myself.

why on earth did they ever think i could protect myself. how could they think i could handle it. how could they not care.

and i'm still too tired now and i still want to go to bed and never wake up. and the scars never helped a damn thing even if i'm still proud of them. because they're the only thing I ever coud do, the only thing i could ever (have strength to) affect.

back