i am different than others. i think in ways that don't capitalize the letter 'i' when i am referring to myself. i think faster than i could possibly ever write or type in my life. the words that come out of my mouth are, at times, defined by Mr. and Mrs. as not worth hearing but i say to them, 'i speak' and Sir, M'am i beg you to define me. give me some insight into who i am because darling i'd love to know.
she was a girl with long brown hair, she'd wear in her face. she only ever wanted to love and fell for the first time for a wrong kind and found herself lost. so she cut her hair as short as the soft fur on a puppy's back and left it that way. red, orange, pink, purple, different shades she'd wear wishing to be chameleon. she'd bend her body in different forms around boys too nice turned mean or relentlessly the bad boy itching to go good until she wants a life and to write and to escape and he wasn't confident enough, so they settled their dispute with her tears and his hands around her throat, pressing the shins of his legs hard on her chest screaming "You wanna get in my face, huh?! you wanna get in my face?!" she wants to cry but fears losing air because the white of the ceiling is looking awfully black, fading away. so she stares at the black above her head and wills it to turn white, she gasps as much as she can for those three minutes, trying to conserve her air. she is scared and in love as much as it seems wrong, sad, poor, pathetic girl who doesn't realize that she should leave because it's what's best. and yes, i suppose that would be right if it weren't for the aching truth that he had formed a sort of power over her, making her weak and scared. she danced in circles for him on tired feet and he smiled at it.
she was alone. and found that being so is better than disappointment at the ( hopefully ) expected.
[t.b.c....]
[i don't know what the fuck this is. -_- ]
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