I hate being home alone, but I love it. You can do what you want. But you can only talk to yourself. And you always end up talking to yourself about yourself. You talking to you about you. That's all it ever is. And you get emotional over little things, like you're going insane, and you cry loudly only to shout at yourself to suck it up, stop being emo, stop crying goddamnit. There's nothing to be sad over. You're just working yourself up over nothing.
You're such a child. I hate you.
..
I am a child. I act like a child. I am very childish. But I am more mature than the idiots at my school. But I fuck up around the people I care about most.
Namely, my best friend and the young man I feel very strong affections for.
I did a childish thing. And now I feel like both of them see me for what I am. A kid.
I told hum that I wanted to "be his" (as in his girlfriend). Both his and her reactions were "why are you so eager to put a label on yourself and him/me"? And "You're/we're in the dating stage, aren't you/we?" And I know I didn't do anything bad and their feelings towards me haven't changed, but...
Well, I'm used to not being viewed as a kid. Now I'm afraid that's all I will be to all my older friends (the ones I know from dancing). Which is why I don't want to go dancing this friday. I'm afraid I'll just be some kid... just some kid.
I hate myself for being a kid.
---
***Art Trading***
I will write about any of your characters, interacting with any of mine (or not), if you draw/photograph/sculpt/whatever your representation of Wiley. She can be found in
The Waffle Iron and
I'm Thinking, Damnit... better represented in The Waffle Iron.
I would love a Wiley devID...
---
~ufukbey
---
This account contains poetry and prose written by (and transferred over from) =
DiyaDeathwalker/~
Slylock-Stock
Samples:
Shower
"I stepped out of my dress like it was a second skin, enfolding me in myself as I reached out for the shower handle. My pale, almost transparent fingers could only weakly grip the cold steel, and it took a few tries to finally pull it out from the wall..."
The Wind
"...she just smiled in a wiggly, unsure manner and rolled her head the other way, noticing that the noise of her car echoed off the parked cars as she passed them. She liked the sound, but only when it echoed. It was like that white noise you get when you put your ear in the pink curl of a conch..."
Swimming at Night
"O delicious twilight
painting all the sea
a soft, palatable silver
with star-roses, slipping free..."
---
My apologies to ~lebstock, whose icon I took.
Punctured Words
