"She's in love, and the world gets blurry
She makes mistakes, and she's in no hurry to grow up
'Cause grownups, they don't understand her
Well it's a big, big world out there, but she's not scared...
She finds hope in the strangest places
She reads her books, and she knows the faces
Of everyone that ever said she's alone
She knows every word to the saddest songs
And she sings along, though her friends all tell her
That she can't sing...
She's eighteen, much too young
To know what a kiss like that would mean
But her lips, they were no stranger to the touch
And she likes it way too much."
--Mayday Parade, So Far Away

Monday, April 28, 2008

Scream My Lungs Out

It's hard to accept that I won't ever be something great, but it's harder to wrap my head around the concept that I won't ever be great to anyone. I'm as boring and as average as they come, and not much else. I lead a very mediocre life--wrought with the mundane perils of suburban life--and it's kind of depressing.

I don't want fame and fortune and all that ridiculous stuff. I just want to mean something to somebody. I want to stand out for just one person, and have them recognize me for the few differences I possess.

I don't think like other people. I don't act like other people. I don't even dream like other people, and yet it's nowhere near enough to earn a spot in someone's mind.

I'm sick of being considered dangerous and crazy. It's annoying, if nothing else. I'm not a danger to anyone, including myself, and well, I might just be crazy, but it's not always a bad thing. I'm not a demon; at least, I try not to be...

It's days like these that make me want to crawl into a hole and cry for awhile, to turn my back on the entire world and tell them all to screw it.

Scratch what I said before. I am a demon. At least I know it, though, right? At least I have that to fall back on.

If all else fails, I can be evil. Great.

No comments: