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mother's day is overrated. |
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<center>my mother is not worth a flippin holiday. sitting with her huge a** in the couch like its a ******** thrown, casting my only a glance as she watches another soppy movie on the tv infront of her, acting as if she were the clean of this hell hole.
with an annoying voice she answers me when i tell her the library is closed today "thats why i told you to look it up yesterday. But, *sigh* of course it didnt get done". always she acts as if everyone else must carry out her orders, her commands, her needs, her wishes, and if they dont, it doesnt get done, while she does nothing but tells us how great she is and how sad we are.
i grow so sick of this.
no longer do i try to please her, dissillusioned long ago to her true ways and actions. sick of her i have become, no longer putting up much more effort then absolutly neccessary.
my grades are failing. i keep them up only enough to keep from flunking and allow me to stay on the computer, but sometimes i fear i have let them slip too far. so, i will look into that and try to fix it. a little.
i am no longer happy within my own home. a place where i should feel warm and welcomed, with those i care about there with open arms, smiling faces, and understanding.
i have so many flippin secrets from them that i wouldnt know where to start if i ever, EVER were to decide them worthy enough to hear. but, mostlikely, if i ever were to tell the bastards, they would disown me.
a blind eye is cast to the world around them, as they hide within this little shell of an existance, believing they are safe from the cruel world around them, bending and twisting what they are able to with their fat fingers to please themselves.
in my heart i feel a sadness, like a thick air, a smog, within my chest, coating my lungs, making it difficult to breathe. each day the smog grows thicker, more toxic. i am dying. suffocating, poisened from the inside by the very things i need to live. to survive.
i thrash about like the drowning, seeking help and audience, those who can hear my cries of pain and sorrow, but there is no one. they have distance themselves, watching with a sadistic amusement as if going to a dark play or watching a movie.
When i am able to purge from my body, temporarily, this smog, this depression, that holds me down, threatens to smother me, i look to the outside world, as if looking through a foggy window that cannot be broken. people, unknown, unheard, pass me by, fading into the distance that is the past behind me and the future before. changing, shifting, moving, the world is a hazy blur. distantly shapes can be made out, that affect my daily life. a large stone building that is my school. hallways filled with yet more of these strangers. people who smile, laugh, cry, and stand emotionless, wondering the halls, filling the class rooms, occupying the desks.
distantly a low rumble, a distant thunder, is heard. they are their voices. peices and broken fragments can be heard, falling upon my muted ears. they look to me, the same contempt, the same look of my mother in them, peircing into my own eyes. or trying. yet they must look through the foggy glass before me, and i turn away before it pains me too much.
one day i shall be reliesed from this prison, and no longer look to the world in a filthy window polluted by the ideas and morals of others.
one day i shall be free.
but untill then, i still must deal with this. cope with the burden, the pain, and struggle to breathe and move, always looking through my small window at the world beyond this place. the true world of the living.
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 Silver_Flame118 · Sun May 08, 2005 @ 06:39pm · 0 Comments |
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