who am i?
i was bold once.
shrill voiced=opinionated.
strong?
i loved, but fearlessly.
i cried, but not really.
nightmare turn reality, believe me.
i no longer like to speak but
sometimes word slip by,
slippery ones, slithery ones.
as they so effortlessly lay down
upon your curious ears;
the sleek word that got away stings-
turns your upside down
as each of my nerve cells fathom the worst possible venom to spit out;
i’ve never seen you encouraging your nerve cells to repel more than you’re doing right now.
*sigh*
i used to love, but i don’t ever remember being scared.
i don’t remember the late night resentments and the voices.
maybe it was simpler then.
less thoughts, more fluff.
but now it’s so much more;
something that makes romance authors jump out of books to write the story for us;
something in me still whispers it’s got a nihilistic purpose to it-
maybe not- maybe it’s just my brain rambling at 2am;
staring at the ceiling-pretending the dust covered paint are the stars-
hmm.
it used to be simpler once.
when i used to stare at the smooth beige painted ceiling-
back home; oh how i loved the purple walls i had.
but it’s different now-
in the all-dull-colored apartment that i chose,
i feel purple.
it’s like i memorized so much of the room, i turned into hues of surprising colors-
sometimes blue, purple and then, black.
who am i and why do i hold my pencil a different way than my classmates do?
colorless, i have nothing but questions.