Hear Me

I don't know why I bother. I really don't. I don't know why I try to be happy, why I still attempt to dwell in that elusive world of existence. It's not gonna happen. I'm as worthless as always, as bitchy as ever. A waste of space, if ever I took up any.

Maybe if they knew, they'd be sorry.... But, no. I can't even TRY to fool myself with that old ploy. They don't know, they don't care, and they don't even realize. I am bloodstained, and they can't (won't) see it.

I hate how they take things that are pure for me and corrupt them with their derision. Like my dancing, my words, my walk. I can't find sanctuary anymore. Even my hope has been tainted. (Where is that scarce entity these days, anyways?)

There's blood on me, on this notebook. Don't ask me if it's real, 'cause I don't know. Hell, I don't even know if I'm real. How am I supposed to answer for a bit of red-brown stain?

I want to cry, but I can't. I'm so scared that things are going to go back to the way they used to be. I'm so scared, so angry, so bitter. I FOUND sanctuary, I FOUND hope, I FOUND safety. But what am I kidding? Certainly not actual circumstances. If I really had those things for even a moment, I definitely do not have them now. (Please, please, don't let things go back to the way they used to be!)

I get told the same damn things over and over, like it's something new for me to learn. "Ignore them." "Rise above it." "Don't sink to their level." Well, guess what? I been there, I done that, and it DOESN'T WORK. So there. Will you shut up with your platitudes off the mountain now? (They only have value when dispensed from the valley.)

This is a cry for help that no one will hear. (To hear would be an inconvenience, because then they might be obligated to DO something.) I'm running out of hope, I can't smile when I dance, and I am alone. There are cuts on my hands from where I've hit the glass too many times and bruises on my knees from where I've fallen. I am scarred and bloody, and I don't remember when all that grime accumulated. I won't lie and say that I'm not angry, but don't try to oversimplify the situation to that one word. It's more than that. I keep trying and trying and failing and failing and I'm fairly frustrated because NOTHING'S WORKING. I can't separate myself from how I feel and I'm well aware that that's a bad thing.

So, this is it. This is my last call out, my last plea, and I know all too well that no one shall hear me.