So here I am again, sitting in my room with some amazingly depressing music playing just staring at the laptop screen. Before that I layed on my bed and looked at the ceiling for an hour or two, before that even, I tried to write. To no avail. I don't really mind it here, sure I'm a bit sad but is that so bad? Maybe it's a good thing, that I know it and I'm not so afraid of it. I'd like to tell you and myself that I can handle it - no problems, but I don't like to lie. I could even carry on this paragraph about how I don't mind being in the dark, metaphorically and literally, try to convince you - maybe I'd even succeed. But I'm not sure I can. I'm still afraid, I'm still angry and I'm still not going to blame it on everything but me - I've played a fair enough part in my life right? So some of what I'm feeling must have stemmed from myself, from my actions, my words.
I'll not go on for too long tonight, I'm not sure that'd be too good given my mood and lack of substance for this post, that and I may never even post it, it might just stay in the 'Private' folder on my laptop. Obviously if you're being subjected to it then I have posted it. Sorry about that. Or am I? I've been deliberating about this for at least, oh, ten minutes. Now I'm always being told that it's best to say how you feel, but does that just mean when asked? Because I've noticed that not that many people really write about how they feel on their blogs, seriously, it's making me look more whiney and possibly suggesting that I'm making something out of nothing, craving attention - people like me are so very often dismissed as attention-seekers. Is that what I am? Honestly? I'd really like to know because that's not my purpose. So I'm wondering if maybe the blog should stay light, my journal dark, and my life false?
I've a picture on my wall, an oil painting that I did last year for my GCSE. My teacher dismissed it as; "nothing special dear, surely you can do better?" As a matter of fact I did do better, by some fluke I got an A. But I had never worked out quite what made it so terrible, such an insult to her artistic eye. I've just realised, it's a reflection with a sunset, the sunset is reflected into the water correctly - but the rocks and other surroundings have no reflection. Ah, that'd be it then. Still, it took me 5 months to realise it so on first glance it's not too bad, unless you're really good at art. Or maybe it's hideously obvious to everyone but me, I'd better take it off the wall.
Actually I'll leave this here, I'll leave you with a poem if that's ok? To satisfy a request, as it were. Stay Safe.
You've got it all sorted,
Covered it all up so now;
You look so perfect,
Settled and dedicated.
Does she know what you can do?
I assume she knows it all,
About me, about you, about the other,
Your strenth, used in questionable ways,
My bruises that won't heal.
I'll just sit over here,
Don't worry; I'll conduct myself well,
I will speak when spoken to,
I smile at every look,
Talk about you, fight your corner,
Make you look like the man you long to be.
Wouldn't it be strange?
If she could read the past,
Then maybe she'd change her mind,
If I wasn't bound by lies,
Maybe she would see those scars.
But what am I saying?
You're not all bad,
It's not all your fault,
I never claimed that it was -
I love you.
Just shouldn't each new beginning;
Start as it means to go on?
Until then, I'll do as you say,
Try to be the perfect accompaniment,
The back - up to your smile,
The parts you miss out.
If you like I'll even stop screaming,
I'll put on my mask,
Smile and give her a hug,
She'll never know -