Anne Frank
i feel quite mad. it comes over me like a spell. possessed, almost. i wish i could blame it on mere possession, a transaction of feelings passed over to me from the most awful of strangest of otherworldly spirits, whose anger resides still in this world from horrible things past. things still occuring. ultraviolet, somber. well, a flash. i suppose it all just swims through me. even my littlest veins seize. i don't think we'd ever thought it'd be easy. after all, from S. to E., the road's rather bumpy, it's enough to tear your legs apart bit by bit. that was always the weirdest thing about it. by the time splinters covered you solid, so did the ice, and then you no longer noticed if you had a leg or an arm missing or perhaps even none now. i think third period was a lot like that. you'd cover yourself in lead 'till you couldn't see the chalkboard and by that time, you no longer cared if you did. or the stifling, if not inspiring way the girl's neck in front of you turned pink come spring and how she had bumps enough to shadow her follicles. and her hair, dyed red, spilling down her back and over the rim of the chair she sat in daily, her scent marking the square. i didn't want to sit, but if the ground from beneath me sunk, i wouldn't want to stand. well, i always liked to read, "i keep my ideals, because in spite of everything, i still believe that people are really good at heart." though i didn't believe a word of it. there's so much evil spread all throughout our blocks and highways and forests, then cities and countries alike. by our own hands, and willingly, and in the end, we are neither justified nor exemplified, but self-sustained and we still believe we are good, but we may be wrong, and because of that, we're always in-between in limbo, perhaps, letting our souls sit about until we've decided if we should or shouldn't, or even think we should start thinking about it at all. and then we are still, for now, left somewhere listlessly in ourselves and our selfishness and our is and then, always working on the what ifs and could bes. i think the world should be part wanting, part needing and then, somewhere between them both, the consciousness of knowing that we can, it could, it will and then when, when like a lightning bolt or exclamation point, dancing all about want and need and then sitting them both down and telling them to be. i do want to say, "it's not my fault. i'm not sick. i didn't do 16, 17 and then 18 too. i haven't lapsed over to 30. i never will. you get tired and weak and then you give up. you settle. it's always second to none, and then none's a once a week, a month and then the years pass and second's become third and then you're lazing around so long that there's no numbers at all. and your body, well, now it's decayed and rotting and you're sighing about how the earlier years treated you better, but i just want to say, 'how did you treat them?' because i treated them fine. i treated them like my own child or animal and i never put them up for rent in the cavity of another person's body and i didn't intake and exhale my grievances. no, i was a good child and i always will be, because i'm not going to get old and forget and wander." i want to say, "girls primp up to wendy and cinderella and belle, but i was always peter. and i always will be. and there's nothing you can do about it."
but i've been brewing for nineteen years whole. i thought i'd close my eyes for a while and stay as still as the walls and books covered in dust on shelves somewhere in the back of the university of pureness and gaiety, somewhere in the back of my i'm no one to anyone and it's not how you really feel, you can't, and i can, and i will continue to and you will stop, because it is not yours to hold and your hands are just too small, sorry, but mine are the biggest of big and my hands encompass it entirely and it's so mine that it's sinking into me, it really is, and is dripping out of you, but my, you're still wallowing in the colour, aren't you, but it looks much better on me. and i am blushed over in red, from toe to head, consumed in all of my green and blue. i feel very small compared to it. i feel very small next to the big emotions and extrovert attention compelled toward the ground, on which i stand, from all sides, like a positive to a negative, magnetically link-connected to each other, till we're not.
then again, i always liked to read, "how wonderful it is that nobody need wait a single moment before starting to improve the world."