|
inacheve
|
read my profile
sign my guestbook
Name: CG
Country: United States
State: Texas
Metro: Austin
Birthday: 3/25/1987
Gender: Female
Interests: britney spears. music. art. english. photoshop. love. you.
Expertise: seduction.
Occupation: Student
Message: message me
AIM:  caitlicious
Member Since:
1/27/2006
|
|
| Orange ember in grey darkness from an extinguished candle, glowing with memory. And it seems, to me, like the rapidly-rising aftersmoke is just trying to chase the now-absent flame, warm curls hurriedly cutting through cold air in a vain attempt to catch the fleeting fire. The irony of the situation is that the smoke only exists because the fire doesn't. Pitiful smoke with pointless intention.
Do not mistake my information: the smoke is there from the fire's beginning, but with fire close by, smoke flees, single-file escaping flame's licking tongue. Flame reaches high, smoke flies higher. Battle is lost, and with the sudden death of its former annoyance, smoke, grief-stricken and regretful, hungrily climbs its celestial spiral staircase, hoping reunion is only a few stories away.
And there they go. Fire bids me farewell, smoke hastily throws a wave as it sprints up stairs, two at a time, and where am I? Tucked in by darkness, and left to my share my musings with feather pillows and white blankets.
I light a match.
| | |
| I haven't done this in a while. Not for you, at least.
This has been a summer of fine lines for me.
Between admiration and envy.
The desire to be like someone, and then the danger in taking on these coveted traits, coated in jealousy. And why want to be like someone else anyway? Because of who they are, who they have, or what they have? So sure that we can never get where they are by being who we are? Identity insecurity.
Between what I deserve and asking too much,
When I watch movies or hear stories of women just walking out,
or demanding to be talked to or treated a certain way, I can not help but be overwhelmed by shock. And I wonder if these requests or acts are outrageous, or in all actuality, what I should expect for myself, too. Recently acknowledged concerns of a friend have made me think more about this. Concerns that I won't get what I should, because of a school that teaches girls to lower their standards for relationships. Not due to the quality of boy, but the quantity. And I supppose I am worthy of worry on this subject, because I don't know what should I be getting. For so long, I have accepted that no one I love will ever love me as much, and I'm okay with that. Maybe the real reason I won't ever walk out is because I'm afraid that no one will come after me.
Between a need for encouragement and a need for space.
"I don't think I can do this" vs. "I don't want to do this."
Do we learn to tell the difference?
| | |
| The thing that I am most afraid of is that I will never learn how to believe in myself, and I will go through life always giving up on me. I will never believe that I can do anything, and after my first failure I will quit, the way I always do. I will go through my life letting down myself and anybody else that ever believed in me until I have no one left. I don't know why I fucking push everyone away. Love me, love me, so then I can shut you out. Do I want power? What is my fucking deal? I wonder how a person gets to be this way, and comes to harbor such a negative perspective. Tonight I realized I don't really even have any dreams. I can only attribute this to the fact that I have absolutely no confidence to pursue any, so I've never wasted the time to fabricate them. It would be a different story if I was intimidated by the big things, like life after college, but the things that plague me like this are so trivial I'm almost to the point of nausea when analyzing my so-called character. I don't think I can be a hostess in restaraunt, or that I can even answer the phone in a workplace. I have no faith in myself whatsoever, and as a result, I have no faith in my future. Hopefully I look back on this and laugh. But right now I'll cry. | | |
| I'm going through one of those phases where I'm just not okay.
I don't know if it's post-show depression or just the stress of everything that's been happening lately...
but I do know that no matter how much I try to conceal, my face will constantly serve as a mirror of my emotions. You know it's bad when the Wal-Mart clerk suddenly stops scanning, looks up at you, raises an eyebrow, and cautiously asks, "You okay?"
And it was selfish of me to do, but I answered honestly and said no.
Now the pressure was on.
She resumed scanning, more slowly this time, obviously trying to think of what she could possibly say to this total stranger who had willingly claimed her own unhappiness in front of another total stranger.
I paid, and she handed me my bags, ready with her advice.
"Well... we all have bad days." I said thank you, and glanced at the foreign figure on the security monitor as I walked away into the darkness. | | |
| i don't ever really fear the possibility that i may never let someone get close enough to actually care about me until i'm in an airplane. polka-dotted highways and cities sprinkled with lights remind me that the world is too big to live in it alone. | | |
|
