It was the only time I felt homeless. No, wait, that's a lie. You have shut me out of this home so many times that I can't even call it home. I slipped on that stupid pile of ice as I stormed away. You said "I love you," but you didn't mean it. I slammed the door in your hopeful face, turning away as hot tears cascaded down my face, vomit rising in my throat and threatening to spill out like the curse words have tonight. I have no direction, I just walk, going wherever my feet take me. Call it inspirational, but my heart is beating like a hummingbird's wings, for I am thrown in to this ugly world I have been exposed to.
You claimed this is a family reunion, but how does it count as family if I am isolated while simultaneously surrounded by people? You are true evil in my eyes, depriving me of the place where I began to discover myself and where I have begun to see it's okay to love.
I lied, by the way. I walked around for half an hour, deciding where to go. For a few minutes, I considered renting a hotel room, then I harshly remembered my bare wallet was left at "home" anyway; I forgot it in my desire to just get out.
The one thing that truly bothers me was that idiotic smile you wore, I hated it. I hated it. You have made me so guarded for so long, and now you smirk at me for finally knowing what I want to do.
Call me a troubled child, a misguided poet, a stereotypical dramatic teenager, whatever fucking "Hello my name is" rounded rectangular insult you decide to slap on my vulnerable chest, it doesn't matter how you label me, because you have already shaped me into this horrible person, molded and sculpted me until my skin has hardened and threatened to break apart.
You should consider yourself lucky I was wearing the sweatshirt he gave me. Its scent filled my tired nostrils each time I gave into those flashing pointing signs of weakness they call tears, falling faster than I could fall in love. I remember I am wearing this simple article of clothing, and finally I am reminded that maybe, just maybe, there's someone out there who really might give a shit about me.
You claimed this is a family reunion, but how does it count as family if I am isolated while simultaneously surrounded by people? You are true evil in my eyes, depriving me of the place where I began to discover myself and where I have begun to see it's okay to love.
I lied, by the way. I walked around for half an hour, deciding where to go. For a few minutes, I considered renting a hotel room, then I harshly remembered my bare wallet was left at "home" anyway; I forgot it in my desire to just get out.
The one thing that truly bothers me was that idiotic smile you wore, I hated it. I hated it. You have made me so guarded for so long, and now you smirk at me for finally knowing what I want to do.
Call me a troubled child, a misguided poet, a stereotypical dramatic teenager, whatever fucking "Hello my name is" rounded rectangular insult you decide to slap on my vulnerable chest, it doesn't matter how you label me, because you have already shaped me into this horrible person, molded and sculpted me until my skin has hardened and threatened to break apart.
You should consider yourself lucky I was wearing the sweatshirt he gave me. Its scent filled my tired nostrils each time I gave into those flashing pointing signs of weakness they call tears, falling faster than I could fall in love. I remember I am wearing this simple article of clothing, and finally I am reminded that maybe, just maybe, there's someone out there who really might give a shit about me.
<3 you
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