I asked her why she wouldn’t say a word to me
She, as the problem stands, didn’t respond
And so it became my turn to tell her my side.
I now have to tell her how I think she’s being.
Without offending her or making things worse,
I have to be blatant and tell it like it is. Oh joy.

All I have to do is explain how I could understand her
While also telling her what I am really thinking now.
It’s what she asked me to do. I should keep my word.
She doesn’t want people to lie to her anymore.
I never want to lie to her, but this is different.
Maybe that’s why she doesn’t believe me one bit.

I may not be any better than the lot of them.
The whole hoi polloi may have gotten to me, too.
Try as hard as I may to avoid the status quo,
Being one with the crowd may be all I know how to do.
“I’m not your average Joe,” I happily told her once.
Now, like the rest of the masses, I have a big mouth and big ears.

This is exactly the issue at hand to me.
As much as I don’t want to be like the rest of them
I really don’t know what to do to help her out.
She expects me to always be on her side,
And I really always will fight for her, always.
But what happens when hers isn’t necessarily right?

So she looks at me with pleading baby blue eyes
That want me to tell her my true thoughts about everything,
And, believe me, I really want to tell her everything.
But how am I supposed to without breaking down in tears?
This may not be just for her own good. I also will say
Words to her that mean a lot more to me than she’ll ever know.

She may think that I couldn’t know anything about this.
Now is not the time to spring on the stark reality to her.
But doesn’t that mean that I’m, only like the rest of those people,
Holding back from being real with her
Because I’m too afraid to tell her the truth?
How is doing something like that to her justifiable?

Then again, it may not be the worst thing to happen.
I could be honest with her and give her the reality.
Yet, I really don’t want to hurt her anymore than she already is.
However, it would be good for us both if I could do this.
If I could do this one thing for her, everything would be solved.
Or at least I hope that, that’s all it takes for it to happen.

“Listen to me,” I tell her, my voice soft and not very clear.
“What?” she murmurs, barely audible, eyes looking into mine.
“You wanted me to talk to you like anyone else, don’t you?”
She nods at me. “So, here goes nothing, my love.”
Even though I called her love, I don’t think she thinks I mean it.
I inhale a deep breath and look into her eyes, hoping it will go well.

"So, here goes nothing," I tell her, not fully believing myself, either
"You think that you're the only one who's going through something like this?
You think that you're the only one who has felt so much pain?
If you think that's true, at all, then let me know, so I can leave right now.
Because other people out there get it, more than you'd care to admit."
I look at her, realizing that I may have cut too deep. But this, she asked for.

"If you want me to stop, you just have to say so,"
I tell her, knowing that she doesn't have the heart to.
I wish that she would.
Even if just so that I could think she's okay.
But she's nowhere near okay, anyone can see that.
And here I am, trying to force her out of it.

She looks at me, and I try not to see the pain in her eyes
I try to not look at her with pity
I know that she wouldn’t like that one bit.
“I know what it’s like to feel like no one cares about you,
To wish that you could leave the world behind.
But I want you to know that you cannot leave without a trace.”

Staring at each other, she nods, as if to let me know
That it really is all okay, and that I can continue on.
“But if you think for one second that no one will care
Then you are mistaken and you’ll have to deal with that.
And there is no one out there who will tell you that there are people,
People out there, who won’t care. It won’t change a thing.”

Once more, I peer into her eyes and enjoy the long stare.
“If you really want to know what it is like to not be seen,
Then you have to go to the edge of the Earth and stare at the sky.
You’ll have to watch the world pass you by.
But I don’t recommend it.” I stop and wait for a response.
As though it was planned, we both begin to cry.

“So, there will be people who don’t care about you at all.
So, there will be things that you can never undo, no matter how hard you try.
And, you know what, don’t say that no one will love you or care.
That’s ******* and you know it. I will always care about you.
If you think that you’re allowed to leave me,
Then think again, because I do not go down without a fight.”

Her lips open and I am ready for her to scream back at me.
She could, she should. I know that I deserve it.
But she does little more than talk about a whisper.
“You think that it’s easy to walk around, wanting to die?
If anyone understood, then everything would be different.
There’s no one that I can talk to. They all say the same things.

And don’t tell me that you’re different.
Sure, you’ll admit that people may not miss me,
But does that really make a difference,
In the grand scheme of things?
Because I don’t think that it makes things change at all.”
So I now have to respond to this poor, lonely girl.

“All I know is that some people are going to bring you down
And some people will never care that they are.
I know that you cannot allow that to destroy you.
You cannot allow that to drag you way, way down.”
So I look at her, tears in both our eyes.
And as I walk away, I swear I heard her say “goodbye.”

Napoleon Bonaparte once said that it takes more courage to suffer than to die.
Unfortunately for me, and perhaps for others, I am not courageous.

I look out into the world and everything it stands for, and all i can think is that, even though I am all alone here, there must be someone out there who is more alone, more lonely, and I should get over myself. It may be very self-destructive and will bring me no good, but it is a constant in my life. At least I know, no matter what I am doing, I will always look out at the moon, think about my life and other people on this earth, and, despite my loneliness, still care.

As I sit out On my porch and stare up at the stars way up above, I am again five years old, chasing fireflies with an open jelly jar as i stare up at the sky and only want to dream. I have always dreamed. It seems to be the one thing that I am actually good at. Sure, living would be nice, but what about dreams? In dreams, I get to say what happens and when. I get to have as many “re-do”s as I want and there is no one to stop me from the insanity. In my dreams, I am always happy.

And that’s the issue with dreams, isn’t it? That we can all sit there with our eyes staring blankly into space and think of a place or time where everything is exactly how we want it to be. We get whatever we want in our dreamland, and maybe that’s why we’re all such a mess when we wake up or whatever. Our dream is gonE.

In dreams, there are no rules. There is no one telling us that we can’t do this or that because of some law or some principle of physics. No one is standing there, arms crossed (or maybe folded, but who cares,) saying “You can’t do that,” because the truth is, we can do that and there’s nothing you can do about it. In our dreams, we are daring. We are the person we wish we could really be.

When I am dreaming, I am able to say what I think and people seem to really care and they seem to want to listen. My world is perfect and I am not worrying about not being wanted or liked. See, when you dream, whatever your greatest fear is will never ever happen. Then it would become a nightmare. But when that is about to happen, you just change your dream and make it all better.

When you get to dream, you are able to more happily face the world the next day, since you have just discovered something new about yourself. You are able to make stupid decisions and ones on a whim. You are able to do more than you ever realized you were capable of doing. Dreams allow you to be yourself, even if it really only is for just a little while. A little can really be a lot.

Through dreaming, people are able to make groundbreaking discoveries and solve issues that they otherwise could not have solved. I wonder why it is, then, that so many young people, full of brilliance and wonder, are given so many things to do, that they barely have any time left to dream? Why is it that the world seems so very against people dreaming and relaxing for awhile?

In our dreams, we are able to take on character traits we wouldn’t otherwise get the luxury of having. Some people are beautiful. Some people are talented. Some people are happy. Some people are successful. Some people are lovely, all around. Some people are in love. Some are loved in return. Yet, no matter what it is that people dream of being, it always has one element in common. It is always the trait that they, and maybe their heart to, always desires.

Courage is something i have in my dreams. I am able to tell how I am and be honest with myself and the world around me. Yet, when I snap into reality, all of those traits of the girl I love being, they disappear. And then I am stuck being boring old me, whose lack of courage causes her a bunch of problems.

I must have been seven years old when I found out
That only the prettiest girls are the ones that people care about.

I must have been confused and cried my eyes out
But all I remember is that she was popular and oh so kind.

I must have been wondering what I had done wrong
They all seemed to be my friends, so why did they change their minds now?

I must have been worried about her, as all the others were.
She tripped and scraped her knee. It would be rude to not care.

I somehow had managed to give into the idea that I didn’t matter
For I had a broken arm and no one had asked me about what happened.

I must have thought that it was normal to be passed by so easily by all
Because everyone readily rushed to the aid of the poor girl with the scraped knee.

I suppose that it all made sense to me, even at the young age of seven.
Popular and pretty are all that anyone wants to concern themselves with.

I must have been willing to be a doormat filled with a whole lot of compassion
Just so that I could hold on to the very fake friends I’d managed to obtain.

I must not have understood that I deserved to be treated well,
Believing that I should be lucky to have anyone who would come my way.

I must have read a lot of books at that point in time
All of them full of some very terrible messages to live by.

I must have known that only people who are well liked get attention
It is not a huge realization, just the stark, awful truth of life.

I must have known that it was only the pretty girls who were the main characters
Even when they are not popular, they are always drop dead gorgeous.

I must have realized that I would have to change to be wanted
Yet, it never occurred to me that others would change alongside me.

I must have thought that I was nothing more than a sidekick
Only later on in life would the harsh truth of this make me cry tears

I must not have figured out that I needed to find better people
However, I really did like them and they really could be quite nice.

I must have been easily deceived in believing my stupid reality
Some stupid reason compelled me to believe that my reality was nothing but normal.

I must have been nine when my identity became the fat, smart girl
Intelligence at least got me some friends, although maybe not all that preferable.

I must have been convinced that I could never be anything but smart
When I became older, I never thought I could be anything else but that.

I must not have known that I was worth something more
Because every time I tried to be something else, I failed each time without fail.

I must have been seven years old when I discovered
That you have to be pretty and popular to get anywhere in this world

I must have been a little kid when I knew what others would take years to discover
That the world is a terrible, awful place full of hurt and pain

I must be absolutely stupid to still think the world is full of generally good people
But no one wants to tell the truth to the world, and I lack all the courage

I must have been fifteen years old when I walked into high school
And realized that, now, everyone else, too, knew what I had known since seven years old

About three days ago
I heard a strange sound
But when I went to find it
I was only met with silence

So I threw my earbuds in
And hoped that they would drown it out
I wished that nothing more would come
That somehow I’d fixed it all

Then, there was a loud noise
I jumped, startled, frightened
I really wanted to scream and shout
A part of me thought it would be best
If I could just run far, far away

Yet, I am one to ignore thought and logic
Especially when it is my own creation

That all said, I did not want to confront it
But I felt compelled to come toward it
I was going to see what it was
I was going to see what had made me wonder
But where to go, where to look?

So I approach the windowsill
And hope for the very best
But when I look out the window
All I see there is a clear, sunny day

So I retreat back to my chair
I wrap a blanket around me, in a cocoon
I place my earbuds back in
And blast the music way, way up