(no subject)
We all have our moments, right? Those dark and lonely hours when our demons take over and they fill our minds with dark, dark thoughts. Those moments when we're never good enough, never beautiful enough, never the right person for the circumstances. That's my present moment. Again, I am the loner, the outcast, the teenager eating lunch alone, wanting desperately to be welcomed into any group. Even the gamer geeks and nerds spurn my company. These are dark hours, those found in the middle of the night, rationale blurred by booze and the savagery of collective thought.
Here's the deal. I've never been the one that people want, clinging to the walls and the outskirts. The one for whom loins burn and companionship yearns. Even my conversation is isolating. I'm an unusual bird. I may be beautiful in my own unusual way but mine is the kind of beauty admired by few. No one reaches out for me, wraps their arms around my waist and pulls me to them with longing, even with the limited inhibitions of alcohol. Even when I was young, loveliness was not my friend. I was never what anyone would call a beauty. Cruel and sobering is the realization that I will always be the second stringer.
Here's the deal. I've never been the one that people want, clinging to the walls and the outskirts. The one for whom loins burn and companionship yearns. Even my conversation is isolating. I'm an unusual bird. I may be beautiful in my own unusual way but mine is the kind of beauty admired by few. No one reaches out for me, wraps their arms around my waist and pulls me to them with longing, even with the limited inhibitions of alcohol. Even when I was young, loveliness was not my friend. I was never what anyone would call a beauty. Cruel and sobering is the realization that I will always be the second stringer.