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Aug 2018
I wish I could just pick up the phone and text you now and again,
call you even just maybe once in a while.
Instead of just seeing your face from a distance again and again, or hearing little specks of your voice talking to someone else.

It’s ****. I feel ****.
Hearing the stories with your name written in them make me feel useless, like I’m just there, far away into the background that I’m not even a character.

The words you say, I see on someone else’s screen, and my name mentioned once and never again. Why do I feel this way so strongly, so depressing, and yet... so used to the treatment.

By family and friends, my own fricken mates don’t acknowledge my existence when they make those plans for the weekend, my parents not knowing who I am because I’m not noticeable like the others

I wish I wasn’t this way. This way that I am used to being, this way I am used to feeling. Like ****, every-*******-day

Do I mean anything to those around me truly?! Deep down maybe but not straight away, and thats a selfish remark for me to make and I shouldn’t even think of saying such a thing, but I just did, and I’m not erasing it from the screen.

Deep down I’m still hurting but no one see’s because I hide it behind, laughter, sarcasm and dark humour to shield my walls that I let fall. Deep down I just want to be held again, in arms that make me feel safe, to be kissed in a way that makes me feel special, and have my hands played with and my skin traced just because.

But I’m too quiet to ask for help.
...
Jasmine Reid
Written by
Jasmine Reid  19/F/Australia
(19/F/Australia)   
880
   Yann
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