I'm running away...
I just need speed, and alot of road. No need for a rear view mirror, I hav nothing to look back on. I just need to get out of here. Maybe if I'm going fast enough my skin will fly away, and I can grow more, and I can mold my self in to who I really want to be. I'm afraid that if I stay here much longer, I'll suffocate in the ignorance that sourrounds all these poor people. I'm positive there is something more out there for me. Maybe I can find a real nice car, one that will make all the people look when I go flying by.
Is it wrong to know that I deseve better?
I wish that I could write the way that I used to. Because once upon a time the words just came out and they were alwyas good enough for me. The words would flow through my whole body and on to the paper, and I wouldn't have to think twice to know they were the best I could make them. But now nothing that I write seems to satisfye me. I spend hours on one paper, hours on one story, on one line of one poem. I have to be good at this. It's my one ticket out of this shit hole. I don't want to stay here long enough to finish out high school. I don't want to stay here long enough to turn out like the rest of my family. I don't want to stay here long enough to die here.
Just now, I was thinking. What am I going to be like when I grow up. Will I still just be trying to get thourgh everyday by simply surviving? Or will there be so much more to me. Am I always going to be this way. Is this my destiny? I sertainly hop not, because I don't think that I can handel much more of this.
If I ever have kids... Wait let me rephrase that.... When my sister has kids what will I tell them about me when I was young? Will I say that I was crazy, and suicidal, and I took a shit load of pills all the time. Will I say that I was a problem child from the beginning? Will I say that my dad was an alcoholic, and even though I don't drink, so am I? Will I say that I bearly made it through? Because I'm nothing now. What will I say?
I'm not bitching or whining. I just need to vent and theres no one left. So I'll see you when you get there.
Is it wrong to know that I deseve better?
I wish that I could write the way that I used to. Because once upon a time the words just came out and they were alwyas good enough for me. The words would flow through my whole body and on to the paper, and I wouldn't have to think twice to know they were the best I could make them. But now nothing that I write seems to satisfye me. I spend hours on one paper, hours on one story, on one line of one poem. I have to be good at this. It's my one ticket out of this shit hole. I don't want to stay here long enough to finish out high school. I don't want to stay here long enough to turn out like the rest of my family. I don't want to stay here long enough to die here.
Just now, I was thinking. What am I going to be like when I grow up. Will I still just be trying to get thourgh everyday by simply surviving? Or will there be so much more to me. Am I always going to be this way. Is this my destiny? I sertainly hop not, because I don't think that I can handel much more of this.
If I ever have kids... Wait let me rephrase that.... When my sister has kids what will I tell them about me when I was young? Will I say that I was crazy, and suicidal, and I took a shit load of pills all the time. Will I say that I was a problem child from the beginning? Will I say that my dad was an alcoholic, and even though I don't drink, so am I? Will I say that I bearly made it through? Because I'm nothing now. What will I say?
I'm not bitching or whining. I just need to vent and theres no one left. So I'll see you when you get there.