My Music Listens Back

Just now, I've been brought down to my lowest, ever.

I've cried my eyes out. I've written poems. I've looked at cute little pictures of baby animals -

But I still feel like nothing. I am nothing.

I was a jail baby - a mistake that should have never happened. I don't remember being born in the prison, but my mom reminds me every fucking day.

I can't help that I've always loved to paint, to draw, to write and express myself with words that I can't find. I don't remember when it started, but I'm still brought down by my lisp.

I make the best grades I can. I can't help the usual distraction of the internet and all the amazing people that are just waiting for me with open arms. Unlike the people in this "real world" that couldn't give a rat's ass about me.

I can't count the numbers of times I've thought about killing myself, but I can't do it. I'm so selfless. I can't see others in pain because of something I've done. I let them hurt me, but I could never hurt them.

I didn't find love until I found someone who gave me a purpose. Sure, it started off as the occasional fuck, but that's what I wanted. I wanted someone to look at me and say, "Damn. I want to do her against the wall." I wanted to be wanted, because then I could finally feel something other than the fake happiness that I kept giving myself.

I can't talk to anyone about how I feel, because they'll say it's a phase, or that I should just go cry a little and come back with a smile. Even with no more tears left, I can't stop the crying. I can't stop the pain that racks through my chest at just the simple thought of everything that has gone wrong. And a lot has gone wrong.

I look in that mirror, and I have to look away. The silent screams coming from the glass tell me to get help, to see someone about fixing something that was never broken. To fix a condition. The only illness I'm sick from is being born with what I have.

But even through all this, all this shit that I put up with and say is nothing, there is still one thing that will sit there, and no matter how long I cry, or scream for help, or simply talk to, my music is always there to listen. It's not just me plugging in a pair of earphones and sitting in a dark room. It's not just paying a dollar for one song, or downloading hundreds illegally. No. It's more about the fact that there is something there to pick me up, even when I can't stand up. It brushes me off, like my parents never did when I was a child. It gives me a hug of encouragement, something Matt tries to do when I cry every night. It's there to listen, and make me feel wonderful. It gives me chills, and makes me feel like the special person I apparently am. It tells me I'm not alone no matter what. It shows me the beauty and love and amazing things that help keep me alive and putting up with yet another day.

It makes me listen.

And it listens back.