(no subject)
She looks like any other teenage girl out there.
Well, not really. Her looks have always been a little...different. Not ugly really, more like an odd kind of pretty. She has rich medium brown hair, which she covers up with a reddish burgundy. Her eyes are brown...large and doey. She's only about 5'4, a healthy 125 pounds...even though she secretly wishes she were skinnier.
She cracks jokes about anything. She can turn anything humorous, even the most serious subject. She has a dark sarcastic bitchy personality, one that tends to turn guys away. They seem to only like girls that are bubbly blondes or that have perfect looks. She wishes that they would apprieciate her strength, her humor.
Life has a funny way of never giving you what you want.
On the outside she seems perfectly normal. She thought she was perfectly normal for years, but she was only subconciously pretending. For the longest time the girl only wished for acceptance; moving to a different city and making friends is no easy task. She hid her personality, and adopted everyone else's. All the girl needed was a wake-up call...and what a nasty one she got.
Troubled? Maybe. Others seem to think so, but she's never sure. The self-inflicted cuts seem to think so too. But she still feels normal. Possibly it's an unconcious cry for help. Maybe her soul is screaming and she just can't hear it.
The girl sits in the therapist office and feels like she is making all her problems up. She feels that she is posing, that she is just trying to be abnormal, when truthfully she's just like everyone else. Or maybe she just isn't anyone at all.
She can't cry, no matter how hard she tries. When the blade slices across her skin she doesn't shed a tear. When her parents tell her how horrible she is, she doesn't feel pain anymore. She just stands there and takes it all in. Living things have emotions. All she feels is frustration and occaisional sadness.
This is me...Angie...Angela...whatever you want to call me.
Well, not really. Her looks have always been a little...different. Not ugly really, more like an odd kind of pretty. She has rich medium brown hair, which she covers up with a reddish burgundy. Her eyes are brown...large and doey. She's only about 5'4, a healthy 125 pounds...even though she secretly wishes she were skinnier.
She cracks jokes about anything. She can turn anything humorous, even the most serious subject. She has a dark sarcastic bitchy personality, one that tends to turn guys away. They seem to only like girls that are bubbly blondes or that have perfect looks. She wishes that they would apprieciate her strength, her humor.
Life has a funny way of never giving you what you want.
On the outside she seems perfectly normal. She thought she was perfectly normal for years, but she was only subconciously pretending. For the longest time the girl only wished for acceptance; moving to a different city and making friends is no easy task. She hid her personality, and adopted everyone else's. All the girl needed was a wake-up call...and what a nasty one she got.
Troubled? Maybe. Others seem to think so, but she's never sure. The self-inflicted cuts seem to think so too. But she still feels normal. Possibly it's an unconcious cry for help. Maybe her soul is screaming and she just can't hear it.
The girl sits in the therapist office and feels like she is making all her problems up. She feels that she is posing, that she is just trying to be abnormal, when truthfully she's just like everyone else. Or maybe she just isn't anyone at all.
She can't cry, no matter how hard she tries. When the blade slices across her skin she doesn't shed a tear. When her parents tell her how horrible she is, she doesn't feel pain anymore. She just stands there and takes it all in. Living things have emotions. All she feels is frustration and occaisional sadness.
This is me...Angie...Angela...whatever you want to call me.