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  Jul 2014 miranda schooler
I never liked crying in public. Matter of fact, I dread crying in public. Because to me personally, crying means attention craving and weakness. Two of the things I wish to not have in my fragile bones. But today, I couldn’t help but cry; nothing could describe the hurt I felt inside. Those tears were more than tears, they were my months of hard work, they were the nights I spent home studying when I could be out having fun, they were my spring break and all the time I spent hidden in my house, they were everything I gave up. And now the feeling left inside me is more hurt and loneliness. I sit in my room on this Friday night, alone. I drown out my pain with the blasting music coming from my laptop. I turn up the sound to the maximum and have the sound bounce in my eardrum.

My eardrums yell at me to turn the noise down, but what I rather fight is the feeling inside of me, the devil soaring in my soul.

You know how you can really determine good friends?
The times when you’re crying your eyes out and you want someone.
You go through your contacts figuring out whose gonna actually care for you.
You scroll down looking at all the names and for a millisecond your mind checks them off them one by one.

Until you get to the end of your contacts and realized none of them has the time for you.


I let the music reach the limits of the stereo until I can practically hear thumping in my eardrums. Does it make me reckless? I hope. Cause I never done anything reckless in my life, so this must make me a bad- ***.  HA! I am so bad I will keep blasting my music up to a point where I lose my hearing.  If I cannot hear, I cannot listen to the words I have been petrified to attend to, the truth.  

Don’t you ever have those times when you picture yourself losing it? You picture yourself throwing glass bottles at your bedroom floors? You see yourself throwing your phone as if all the memory of the phone meant nothing?  You get so angry, so furious; you don’t know what to do. You look at your swollen face in the mirror and you cry, because you know that it’s Friday night, and everyone but you is having a blast, and your sitting in your room, crying wishing you could be in anyone else’s shoes but your own. ****, how did I get like this? Maybe it’s my fault for isolating myself to a point where I was my own best friend.
  Jul 2014 miranda schooler
i make a fat joke about myself and
"i don't ever wanna hear you say something like that again," he says
he asks if i am unclear as to why
and i want to ask
if he is unclear as to why
i made it in the first place.
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