Leet
Still doing my job
I'm pretty good at it, except for the times when i screw up.
For the most part, i find things other people miss
And note when something isn't right
These handy little powers of observations
Earn me pats on the head that could be promotion in the works
I don't care, I'm just good at what I do, and as routine as my job is, the strange things stick out really badly, unless I'm trying to ignore them and just end the damn call as fast as possible.
That happens.
Sometimes I'm sleepy, that happens too, i just forget things.
But my job isn't really that interesting
I drew some new things
Only a few people will ever care about my drawings
My father told me straight to my face I was wasting my time drawing at all, that I had no talent and should leave it to those with talent, and instead devote my time to things I'm good at, like math, and physics, and go be an engineer.
I'm not particularly affected by this, it's just something I found unusual
Once again, the more routine things are, the more unusual things stick out.
Generally people just glance at my drawings, don't say much. They don't grimace, they aren't offensively horrible or anything, they're just not really noteworthy or interesting most of the time.
I know this better than anyone, I rarely give a crap about anything i've drawn about 3 days after it's done, at most.
But I hope someone might find it interesting, or see the thing i TRIED to draw.
Maybe guide me to better find that thing.
I dunno, there's always that hope of someone just liking it
Then there are times what people see what I was trying to draw, and then altered to make it not seem like that. They see the first thing all the same, and they ask. They look at me and they know, and I realize they know, and I am horrified because I cannot explain. I feel stares searching for my inner being, seeking to follow and trail they found with that little glimpse, that time when I tried to expose myself and succeeded, and I writhe, trying to hide again.
It's not that I don't want anyone to know who I am... it's the fact that I don't want anyone to dislike who I am... nor to I want most people to like it. With some exceptions, i fear, if you know me and still like, it is because you identify, and I want to be nothing like you. Because so many people seem to be complacent, and so accepting of what the rut they've slipped into, and I don't want to know that I am like that. Then there are the others, who I want to see and want them to like me, but i think, they, as they are, could not identify with my wretched, fearful inner self. And would not like it, they would find it repulsive and alien.
I write poetry, I have for years now. I don't keep most of it.
I don't want anyone finding it. One person has seen almost every work
She is so removed and far gone she is nearly anonymous, except to me. To me, she is someone I know very intimately.
She knows the person I was once, was later, and am even now.
And she swears that she does not hate him in the least.
Oddly... I do not care for her. I almost dislike her. I am torn between fervent adoration and sneering contempt. As I am to myself.
I suppose that I was I let her see so much of me, because I regard her nearly as a different self. She is not PART of me, no voice in my mind sounds a bit like her. she is not the same as me. There is some non-specific abstract similarity, that makes me so trusting of her, yet, also completely paranoid simply because of how much she knows, and the fact that no one is ever detached. She is not objective. Again, i do not even trust myself. I feel like I have a split series of motivations, one wishes to be honest, one sees no point in revealing these things and worries as to how this will affect everything.
So why then, of those I regard as friends and try to be myself around... is she the exception?
Because I utterly do not care what she thinks of me.
She has hated me, once, and since then, I do not care so much whether I am reviled or revered by her.
She knows who Pox is, she knows who Pox looks like. She knows who Rook is.
She knows the secret names, and the imagery and symbolism I use to describe everyone I know.
She knows why I consider the moonless starry sky the most important kind of night.
So, I decided, I've give anybody a chance.
I won't decide I'm being super-honest and open with everyone because not everyone wants that.
Hell, it's not even pleasant to consider that I may be hiding or outright lying.
I'm sorry if you DID think i was being completely open
So, here's what we do.
I'm going to steal a neat trick from a friend of mine
I'll make a letter, all you have to do is ask.
Leave a comment, asking to be sent your letter.
I'm pretty good at it, except for the times when i screw up.
For the most part, i find things other people miss
And note when something isn't right
These handy little powers of observations
Earn me pats on the head that could be promotion in the works
I don't care, I'm just good at what I do, and as routine as my job is, the strange things stick out really badly, unless I'm trying to ignore them and just end the damn call as fast as possible.
That happens.
Sometimes I'm sleepy, that happens too, i just forget things.
But my job isn't really that interesting
I drew some new things
Only a few people will ever care about my drawings
My father told me straight to my face I was wasting my time drawing at all, that I had no talent and should leave it to those with talent, and instead devote my time to things I'm good at, like math, and physics, and go be an engineer.
I'm not particularly affected by this, it's just something I found unusual
Once again, the more routine things are, the more unusual things stick out.
Generally people just glance at my drawings, don't say much. They don't grimace, they aren't offensively horrible or anything, they're just not really noteworthy or interesting most of the time.
I know this better than anyone, I rarely give a crap about anything i've drawn about 3 days after it's done, at most.
But I hope someone might find it interesting, or see the thing i TRIED to draw.
Maybe guide me to better find that thing.
I dunno, there's always that hope of someone just liking it
Then there are times what people see what I was trying to draw, and then altered to make it not seem like that. They see the first thing all the same, and they ask. They look at me and they know, and I realize they know, and I am horrified because I cannot explain. I feel stares searching for my inner being, seeking to follow and trail they found with that little glimpse, that time when I tried to expose myself and succeeded, and I writhe, trying to hide again.
It's not that I don't want anyone to know who I am... it's the fact that I don't want anyone to dislike who I am... nor to I want most people to like it. With some exceptions, i fear, if you know me and still like, it is because you identify, and I want to be nothing like you. Because so many people seem to be complacent, and so accepting of what the rut they've slipped into, and I don't want to know that I am like that. Then there are the others, who I want to see and want them to like me, but i think, they, as they are, could not identify with my wretched, fearful inner self. And would not like it, they would find it repulsive and alien.
I write poetry, I have for years now. I don't keep most of it.
I don't want anyone finding it. One person has seen almost every work
She is so removed and far gone she is nearly anonymous, except to me. To me, she is someone I know very intimately.
She knows the person I was once, was later, and am even now.
And she swears that she does not hate him in the least.
Oddly... I do not care for her. I almost dislike her. I am torn between fervent adoration and sneering contempt. As I am to myself.
I suppose that I was I let her see so much of me, because I regard her nearly as a different self. She is not PART of me, no voice in my mind sounds a bit like her. she is not the same as me. There is some non-specific abstract similarity, that makes me so trusting of her, yet, also completely paranoid simply because of how much she knows, and the fact that no one is ever detached. She is not objective. Again, i do not even trust myself. I feel like I have a split series of motivations, one wishes to be honest, one sees no point in revealing these things and worries as to how this will affect everything.
So why then, of those I regard as friends and try to be myself around... is she the exception?
Because I utterly do not care what she thinks of me.
She has hated me, once, and since then, I do not care so much whether I am reviled or revered by her.
She knows who Pox is, she knows who Pox looks like. She knows who Rook is.
She knows the secret names, and the imagery and symbolism I use to describe everyone I know.
She knows why I consider the moonless starry sky the most important kind of night.
So, I decided, I've give anybody a chance.
I won't decide I'm being super-honest and open with everyone because not everyone wants that.
Hell, it's not even pleasant to consider that I may be hiding or outright lying.
I'm sorry if you DID think i was being completely open
So, here's what we do.
I'm going to steal a neat trick from a friend of mine
I'll make a letter, all you have to do is ask.
Leave a comment, asking to be sent your letter.