Rag Doll Child
I’m shaking in my body. Losing, fading. I’m losing touch of who I used to be before everything started to happen. Before all the hate… before all the jealousy… before all the stress… before trying to “become mature”… before I started to care what people thought of me. I’m losing touch of the girl found joy out of the single most spectacular moments of life. How can that sweet girl turn into a dark girl that wishes to kill all who touch her. Beheads anyone who attempts to make it over her wall. A wall so thick and tall that nose bleeds are out of control. I’m tired of not knowing who I am and not knowing the difference I make in peoples’ lives. It is too hard for someone to say that want me to be love me and want me to be happy, wholeheartedly, with no strings attatched. I feel so ungrateful. I’ve had so many great things in my life and yet I bitch about everything. I bitch that I’m losing my last pillar of strength to some kid and how many people attempt to become a sanity keeper of mine but I can’t allow that. If something happens… I’d be torn apart. Torn to bits like rag doll remains that some kids thought it was funny to give to the damn dog. They say they won’t but nothing written in stone. How many times must a someone’s heart break before a callus forms? Just grow used to it, instead of bleeding to the point of crimson tiles. Is it truely impossible to live without not being in love? Maybe I’ll never love someone like people love on movies all fake and plastic. To be alone for the rest of my godforsaken life. I have so many things I can’t tell them because I don’t want her to hate me. I hate that I have to live my life thinking that and not telling her anything. I hate if I actually do tell her then I get my ass kicked. I hate that I have no reason to be shitting feeling because nothing bad has happened to me. I hate that I don’t have the guts to tell someone how I really feel without regretting it. I hate that everyone else has someone they can “depend” on and mine doesn’t even realize how much she really means to me. What the fuck is wrong with me? I know something is wrong with me… I’ve admitted that there is. Now where the hell is my help?
