| Noose... |
Here I am.
I could start by telling you that I was born in Orlando, FL at exactly midnight, or that I am tall, or white, or something, but it's all bullshit. It's all physical bullshit that I don't care about anymore. Enough about me I say; let's talk about you.
I started my life by myself. I learned to read when I was 1. I taught myself how by watching my older sister, Devon, read out loud. I began to read on my own. By the time I was three, I was fluent in English. My first word was alligator. My mom and dad were arguing over which species the animal in the zoo was, and I clarified it for them.
Language opened up a new world for me. It gave me a set mothod of communication that I could use to converse with the only person that bothered to listen to me: myself.
I spent my childhood alone, weak, afraid. My parents seperated when I was four. We lived in McCall at the time. My mom left my dad and I, taking my two sisters, Devon and Kassandra (Kassie) to live with her in Boise. It was just me and my daddy. My daddy was never home. It was just me.
In my solitude, I taught myself to cook, clean, and do all the menial tasks that the parents should do for their children. I raised me.
Eventually, I turned 10 and had to go live with my mom because she convinced Devon into proclaiming that she was molested by my father. Bullshit. But the courts believed her. I was forced to live with my crazed mom and her dumb-fuck new husband, Troy.
I hated the man. If anyone abused my sister, it was that asshole. He tried to kill me, more than once. He tried to strangle me, tried to cut me, tried to drown me. My mother soon followd suit, trying to kill me twice. All because I would not accept Captain Shit-for-Brains as my new father. Little did they know, I have no fear of Death, and I would welcome him kindly.
I want to tie Troy to a cross, hang him upside down, and slit his throat. This way he can taste his poisoned blood as it pours forth from the open wound onto his forked tongue before he escapes into the burning pits of Hell from whence he came.
In the seventh grade, I moved to Caldwell. I already knew some people from living in Caldwell in the fourth grade, but I was still nervous to go back to Caldwell schools.
After I moved out, my mom and sisters moved to Kuna with Shithead. Later, on June 23, my sister supposedly drowned in Indian Creek. I have wanted to say this for a long time, but it is hard for me to say. I don't think she drowned. I think she meant to do it. I feel that if I were in her position, I might have done the same.
Anyway, here I am. In Caldwell. When I moved here, I told myself that I would just rush through school and never get socially involved. It almost worked for awhile. I picked up a few friends, some mean more to me than others, but I love them all the same. I don't just hand people my love on a silver platter carelessly, though.
Friends were cool, so I told myself not to get involved with members of the opposite sex in a way that would be frowned upon it the person were male. Basically, I eliminated all sexual themes from my life. And it worked! For awhile.
I'm 16 now, almost 17. But I don't feel like it. I feel like I hear fifty-year-olds talk. I feel overly mature and overly serious. I hate myself. I just figured it best if I kept to myself. Then, I met a girl...
She is a goddess among her kind. She makes men gape in amazement without even consciously attempting to do so. She can do anything. She is everything I ever wanted. She is herself, and she lets everyone know that she will not change for them, without audibly stating such. She is Jessica.
I see her, and I am sad. I know she is an actress, she is not who she plays. I will not say I know all about her. I have only known her for about a month. But I knew all that I know now the first time I ever looked into her eyes.
She plays her happy role in life, never playing sadly, never shedding a tear. I can't stand it. It tears me apart to see her as she allows others to see her.
I want her to cry. I want to hold her in my arms, and let her lay her beautiful face unto my chest; I want to wrap her in my feath'ry wings and hold her forever. Her soul was programmed not to shed a tear, for in the end, people will take advantage of you. I want to program her to listen to her heart.
People may take advantage of you, but only if you are alone. With another to uphold you, you are invincible.
I want to let her stand upon my shouders to let her be closer to the Heavens, for all the stars to witness, that it is her true self. I want her to fly.
I lie to no one, and so I must always choose my words carefully. I cannot profess love that I may have for one, that is, unless I mean it with all of my mind, heart, and soul.
What is love? Is it what makes me sad when she is sad; happy when she is, too? Does it force me to worship her, privately, so as not to let anyone see that I can love truly?
She looks at me, and I want to die. She gazes into mine eyes as if they were those of a child. Does she not know me, or is she again playing the role of an actress?
She left for the weekend. She is gone. I have never felt this for any living person before, but strangely, I miss her. I have a need to feel the rose to bud beside me. I need to see the dripping and trickling of the clear-watered rivulet before my vision.
Do I sound immature, to fall for one over a year older than I? Is it just lust? It can't be, because I would want to be with her even without sex. Just so long as I could kiss her. Her soft lips, always so soft, make me feel like a god among mortals whenever they happen to meet mine.
How is this possible? I am built without emotion. I cannot fear or feel or love. And yet, somehow, she forces me to break free from my stoic bonds. She makes me want to proclaim my inner thoughts and feelings, but how would she react? Now I feel fear, too.
I hate the feeling that I get when I don't know the solution. I need her to help me...
When Everything Was Ugly... - And Ugly It Remains...