But where is the place for the people like us?
The artists, the cutters, the solemn observers.
Every INFJ. Every poisoned mind. Every social awkward with so much depth they just might sink.
The ones who have found their soul but are searching for their mind.
The ones who find their mind by losing their marbles.
The misrepresented and misunderstood.
The hurt and the happy.
With a requirement of so much patience and love that no one is willing or able to give.
The ones who make adjustments.
Who hit rock bottom and manage to get back up on their own.
The ones who fall too fast for something out of reach. They end up quietly crashing and burning.
The ones who are living under layers of paint; on their hearts and in their homes. Whose sweetness and innocence are buried somewhere underneath the paint, barely recognizable.
The ones who were born with a fifty year old soul.
Who have a biologically memorized speech that no one will hear; that no one can hear.

I ask you, where will they go, the people like us?

My mom once told me to never discuss politics or religion with someone you love.
I believed her but it never really sunk in.
Today it did.

Today I watched my friend praise a classmate when they gave the right candidate.
Today I was jokingly told that my classmate couldn’t speak to me when I said I had no opinion but favored the other side.
Today my neutrality was wrong.
Today my answer wasn’t good enough.
Today I learned that someone I previously thought was joking, wasn’t.
Today I felt worried and trapped and overwhelmed.
Today I questioned my future and the future of my country.
Today I realized my classmates were against me.
Today I realized it’s not politics anymore, its life and death.

Today it became real.
Today we voted.

I will rip the storm from the sky and bring it crashing down around you. Then you will truly understand the storm in my eyes.

I will thread my fingers through the sky and stand before you, dripping and stained by stars. Then you will see the constellations scaring my veins.

I will envelop you in the passion my heart holds. The heat reminding you how fiercely I could've loved you.

But then, as the weather calms, you will fall to your knees, lost at sea, finally understanding how bad you hurt me.

12:08 AM

I have people to talk to but would they understand?
Would I be able to articulate my words and untangle the mess that my thoughts are in?
Would it stay the same or get lost in translation?
Would it make sense?
Would they understand that I'm lost at sea?
Lost in the waves crashing through my veins?
Would they even care?

I want to be the villain.
I want to be the hero.
I want to be the rebel.
I want to have lived and loved and died happy.
I want to die old.
I want to die young.
I want to burn and thrive and spark and fizzle and explode.

I'm conflicted and my mind is a mess.
But maybe I thrive from chaos.

I want to be somebody.
I want to be nobody.
I want to be crazy.
I want to be free.
I want to be a poet, a writer.
I want to greet death with open arms.

I want to make mistakes and learn and live and regret.
I want to be thrown out on my ***, helpless, fighting to live and survive.
And I want to make it.

I want love.
I want hate.
I want happiness.
I want sadness.
I want adventure.
I want regret.  
I want life.
Death.
And everything in between.

I want to be me, but what happens when I don't know who me is?

My biggest fear may be being only mediocre.
I want to live while I'm alive.
I don't want to live on dreams and die empty without adventures and stories to share.

But my greatest fear could only be fear itself.
I don't know.
I've never known for I haven't lived yet.

My heart beats in my chest.

And blood runs through my veins.

I'm alive but why am I not living?