Insecurity and delusion.

A 14 year old's lament.

So the webs are breaking. The room is getting smaller and love is leaving the oxygen broken in his wake. I am a victim of the light struggling through this constant haze. Restless and calm. I sit ready to pounce upon what does not encompass me- not minding the lack. Ready to attack the gnawing externalized. These people are pure red, red, orange, green. So where am I? I move like I am, but I'm not, so how can they be? The beards could touch me, but I see this figure rushing against these foreign particles and know that it means to join my fermentation. Needs to merge with the emotion it does not radiate. The rain that fed a whirlpool. He is turning, absorbing, bringing my mind clear again (as far as looking goes). As far as this breathing home comes. The window framing his silhouette colored; Brown hair, orange skin, clean clothes. This girl is lost. He speaks to her as if he were lost. And he is. He has lost me, vision narrowed to her mousy locks and pink flesh. Flesh more too much than mine, though mine is a million times larger than my size. Hers is 7 million. Just noting. I will say I'm not worried about it because bodies are just the boxes we were shipped in. Say it doesn't matter how terrible I've let my box become, but I hate me by it's side. My body used to be an art form maybe. It's limits used to be limited. I can say this without minding he can't see; we vow to beautiful chasms. Physically soldered, but my memory is all the beauty I've known and I am fretting. I am sick to my stomach- bloating. Waterfall of beer from my tongue to the acidic cavern. I am tired. All I want to do is move towards the window silhouette...It's just that I refuse to. I can't keep my head high enough to smile into every eye. I don't want to pretend like empty sounds interest me. I don't want to listen to talking that comes from a forgotten ability to connect. To truly connect. To feel another. To wonder whether he truly feels others. He doesn't look at me the same anyway. I need to be still. To unload. Forget about his distance and run. Forget about his affections fading. Maybe fading. Either way, it's changing. I'm changing.

Author's Note

Found in my 8th grade journal.

Reviews

[Muse]

This was your vocabulary in the 8th grade? I'm impressed! The only placed I tripped when reading was here:

"Flesh more too much than mine"

I wasn't really sure what you meant by that statement.

Interesting how you wrote this in a first person perspective...yet I felt like you were anything but alive. Almost as if this boy had a "Pinocchio syndrome" he was observing and learning...but not really living.

[Tuesdae]

Well...I am a girl.(; You are spot on though; that's how I've felt in all social settings for my entire life. Speaking of which, I probably owe my vocabulary to that fact; I never seemed to surface from the depths of my books back then...partly to fend off questions as to why I was so quiet; I used it as an excuse to be distant.

I'm pretty sure I was comparing who was fatter on that statement. Typical petty adolescence insecurity stuff.