Archive.The Future.Sign.Diaryland

2002-03-01

You Have A Beautiful Face ... Really.

The bell rings and they all stumble and fumble and tumble from the library. They file out into the stairwell pushing and shoving and screaming and yelling and calling to others who are further down. Their voices echo off the plastered walls covered with the creativity that is the offspring of stress. The colours are too bright and the screeching of a couple hundred girls, too loud. I wish they would all shut up. I want to scream, I want to voice my anger, my annoyance. "Shut up! Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!" Yet I just roll my eyes and continue down the stairs on to my locker. I squish myself through the too-small locker room door to get to my locker which someone has oh-so conveniently planted themselves in front of. "Excuse me." I don't care who you are, who you are talking to, or who you are talking about, get away from my locker. The person, out of my great disappointment, moves right away although they remain hovering in the space beside my locker on the other side. They continue to talk to the person who's locker is next to mine. I flip around the combination lock and smash the locker door open in the talker's face.

...She doesn't seem to notice, but just walks away, her conversation complete.

I later find myself wondering about these random feelings of hostility towards my peers. At different points during the day I think of them as immature. They are lesser, they are ignorant. Yet I wonder what makes me so much better than these mere children? I am one in the same as they are, but I don't feel as though that is true. They speak of extravagent parties and beautiful boys and sex and drugs and drinking. They joke around about those things and can only shake my head and think the same thing over and over again. "No, you don't know what you're talking about. Stop pretending, stop trying to be what you're not. You look disgusting and disfigured with that cigarette dangling from your lips. Take it out. Use your brain. Stop harassing the french teacher. Please, don't ruin your lives. Why don't you understand?" And over and over again, I remain unheard.

When I look past their exteriors I see emptiness. In some I see loneliness and in others I see insecurity. All over the place there are negative thoughts. Evil thoughts as well as unsure thoughts that are filled with question marks and exclamation points.

Oh, my eye is ugly and bruised and yellow, make the blackness go away.

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