Miss Independent?

I believe in memories, in art, in music, in recognition. I believe that we all have importance in this life. We all should do something that will stick out to at least one life, maybe more. I think my calling is to write. Write to inspire another  and write to heal myself. I don’t claim to be the best at it and I know I will not ever be the best, but hopefully one day I will see my name on the shelves at Barnes and Noble. My wish is that when my name is on the book, a picture of a thin face will be displayed on the back cover next to critics words.

I remember when I started writing as a young girl. My parents told me that the things I wrote were too dark and much too depressing to possibly be something I would write. I was too happy as a child. I would have to agree, the face I put on for them to see was different than the one displayed when I was in my room. I wrote a poem when I was fourteen called “Thank God This Pillow Can’t Speak” (I will post it at the bottom of this post). Not many people would have expected it at that point. I was the happy-go-lucky fat kid that had a few of the best friends in the entire world. Friends that accepted me even though I was fat and loved me all the same. Just like my family accepted me… However, it wasn’t the acceptance I wanted. Nobody seemed to appreciate my words because it “didn’t seem like something I’d write”. I wanted someone to listen, but instead they told me to focus on happier things. Their advice only pushed me further into my depression.

I remember having “crushes” as a kid. I, of course, never could act on them. I wasn’t the girl anybody would want to have as a girlfriend. It surprises me that I learned such huge lessons at a very young age. Young boys don’t differ much from older boys. They are all the same and it’s understandable. It’s all about appearance and who looks hot with who. I don’t look hot with anybody. Anyway, when I was 16 almost 17, I met a great guy. Some of you who know me well know who I am talking about, but I’ll call him Joe. Joe and I clicked right off the bat. He’s asked me to be his Valentine in early January and it was on from there. We talked for hours at a time everyday. He bought me things (don’t take this out of context), he told me I was beautiful, and he didn’t give a damn what people thought about the size of the girl on his arm. Joe loved me exactly how I was. He pushed me to do the things I wanted and always wanted to see me succeed…

He ran away to another state and he broke my heart on his trip. Sometimes, I wonder if he led me on. Used me (for what I don’t know..) He told me he loved me, but he couldn’t be with me anymore which didn’t make any sense. He said we could be just friends (yeah right.). Eventually, we ended up back together even though it was long distance and we vowed to see each other as often as possible. We saw each other twice in the course of nearly another year. Then January 4, 2010-he shattered my heart again when he told me it was over for good. His life is there, my life is here, it’ll never work out… Every excuse you can come up with. I’ve been single ever since. (Well unless you count that one dumbass, but I’m trying to forget he even existed).

I have always been independent. Some people might assume my independence was forced, but at the same time it’s a choice. I have met several “men” (I use the term lightly) that were willing to take care of me if I were willing to do unspeakable things for them, or rather to them. I don’t want anything to do with that filth. I have more pride than to lay aside my morals, my standards, and the person I am to allow someone to take care of me. I am satisfied taking care of myself, but sometimes it would be nice to have a shoulder to lean on. I lean on my friends for support most of the time and as much as I appreciate that, I want someone to call my own. Not necessarily someone to take care of me, to buy me expensive things, or even pay for my dinner, just someone who is there on the other side of the phone when I need someone to talk to. Someone who wants to spend time with me and enjoys my company. Is that too much to ask?

Thank God This Pillow Can’t Speak
I go to school with a smile on my face
Seem so together, seem so in place
Walk to my locker and laugh with my friends
Nobody could guess that it’s all just pretend…
 

 

The bell rings so I get to class

 

I laugh and talk as the hours pass

 

Before I know it, it’s time to go home

 

Pretty soon I can be alone…
 

 

Mom asks how school was, I say ” just fine!

 

But there’s loads of homework the teacher assigned “

 

She nods her head and I walk upstairs

 

I think to myself…I’m almost there
 

 

I get to my room and I lock my door

 

Now I don’t have to pretend anymore

 

I grab my pillow and begin to bawl

 

Shaking and crying as all the tears fall
 

 

They can’t see that I’m not okay

 

So I lay there and cry for the rest of the day

 

Squeezing my pillow and falling apart

 

Feeling such pain inside of my heart
 

 

And I cry and cry till I fall asleep

 

It’s one of those secrets I’m forced to keep

 

But tomorrow I’ll act fine like I do everyday

 

Cause only my pillow knows I’m not okay

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