My thoughts. My feelings.

I have a knack
for saying things
that make people not want to be around me.

I don't know why.
I do like people.
I enjoy talking to them.

But I always
say just one thing
that pushes them away.

I sit alone
in my room.
All day
and all night.
With only my purple buunny
to keep me company.

I imagine conversations.
That's how "crazy" I am.

That's what people call me.
Crazy.
Some days,
that's what I call myself.

All the friends I do have
in the real world,
want nothing to do with me
once the final bell rings.

So why should I care,
what people think
of my actions?
If nobody I care about
cares back.

People hate me.

They call me names.
Call me fat and ugly.
Not always behind my back.
They say it to my face.

I know they see the effect.
The broken look I know I get,
hard as I try to hide it.

People get off on making people,
me,
and a few others,
feel inferior.

I push people away
with my personality.

Controlling

Talkative

Smart,
almost to a fault.
Definately to a fault.

Random

Funny,
or so my mother thinks.
And even she doesn't care
about what I do.
Only the things that make her look good.

She's been gone for 12 years.

What makes her
think
she can come back now?
That we can just
pick up
where she left off?
That I'll still
think of her
as a parent?

Music is my only
true companion.

Music is the
only thing
nobody,
no matter who they are,
can take away from me.

And it's the only thing
I've always been able to turn to
when things got rough.

When I almost got kicked
out of school,
music was the only thing
that kept me
from attemting suicide.

Music is there for me.
No matter what I do,
It always has.
And it always will.