I’ve turned myself to stone. I’ll admit, there are plenty factors that have forced me into my current state. And I’ll never forget any of the people or incidents that have made me feel as if my heart has no beat. Don’t start in with the parental therapy. I may have not heard it all, but I’ve heard enough. And frankly, it hasn’t worked yet. I can’t pin point when all of this “wall-building” started, and unless you know me pretty well, you wouldn’t even see it. I can talk to anyone. I can lose myself in a conversation with a complete stranger. I can get someone to talk to me about things they usually wait for the third encounter to confess to. Seems pretty neat. However, I listen to everyone’s confessions. It’s rare that I get to share my own. It’s like I’m a priest, only I don’t live with a bunch of nuns. Parties and dancefloors scream my name. I’m the one shouting at the DJ when he says the club’s now closed. I can hide things better than best illusionist in the world. But the wall’s starting to crack, and I’m all out of sealant. There has been so many times…so many times where I should have broken down to my knees in tears. Times where I should have screamed my lungs out, or made someone feel as stupid and belittled as they made me feel. I should have tore someone apart with all the dirt I had on them after what they did to me, and I didn’t. Each time, I bottled the situation. I slit another tear in my heart and lowered the temperature in my being to a colder degree. I now live in an arctic hell, but when you ask how I’m doing, I smile just as bright as the sun glows. I take on more than I can handle and constantly profess that the sweat doesn’t bother me. People lean on me for support and I’m stronger than oak. The smallest whimper in their voice is enough to make me jump in front of a bullet for them. Should this be the case, I’m not suppose to have problems. There’s no way that I can look as if I have an ability to quiver or raise an eyebrow in fear. It’s not possible. That emotion is something I don’t have time for. But as of now, as I sit in my own arctic prison, it’s the only presence that looms after I realize that I’m all alone. Alone. Being alone makes me think. Makes me think about the time you screamed at me for talking to someone you didn’t want me talking to. Makes me think about how if I just would have stuck it out a little longer, that maybe I’d have someone who cared about me. Makes me think about how I matured way too fast growing up, and learned that there was a lot I’d have to do for myself. Makes me think about ALL the times they’ve left or broke it off and didn’t even have balls enough to let me know. I intimidate you? Me and all of my 4’11 self intimidated you? It’s as Marilyn said, “If you can’t handle me at my worse, you don’t deserve me at my best.” I’m torn between crying and being angry for all the times that I didn’t. I’m serving time for telling myself I was weak for coming close to shedding a tear or becoming upset of something small. But all the small things and all the times I told myself that I didn’t need you or that I said it was just another fish in the ocean have amounted to this volcano of horrible emotion that I can’t process. With each passing minute I feel myself becoming colder. The smile you love is becoming harder to show. Yes, the stage is my runway, but my runway is rickety, rusty, and missing a few floor panels. It needs to be polished, but I’ve no more shows to perform and no one to perform for. I could never be cold towards anyone that holds high regard for me, or who loves me. But I’m not quite sure how to bring the warmth back into my mind once more.
Eternal dark of the sun-less mind…
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