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Sunday, 30 June 2013

Not a blank page
 (listen to call me by Shinedown and lights by Ellie Goulding)

     i listen. i observe. i don't speak. but that doesn't mean there's nothing going on up in my mind. that doesn't mean nothing is going on in my heart. that doesn't mean i' m a blank page.

  I have a pair of purple headphones. they are high quality, crisp and loud. well, at least they used to be. i dropped them, not too long ago, and they broke into pieces. i was really upset that day. then my brother tried to fix them, and they are in one piece again. but some thing must have gone wrong with the wiring or something, for now the sound isn't loud and clear like before. it's distorted, the music sounds far off, messed up. like from a parallel universe. they're kind of destroyed. but you know what? i think i like them better this way.

 the music seems a different kind of raw, distorted, the high parts are low, the low parts are high. the music is definitely nothing close to perfect. which is what makes me even more attracted to it. it's not perfect. its like the song is being sung from somewhere above the fits me. it fits what i feel everyday. this distorted, messy, absolutely beautiful music is ME.
 my mom wishes id notice the mess my room is more often, my friends keep reminding me to smile, laugh and flirt more often. like normal people. but these aren't the kind of things i notice or remember. i instead, notice how the raindrops roll down the car window, full of stories. i notice the way the sky bursts into color after a rainy afternoon, closing in to a gorgeous sunset of pink and purple hues. i notice the painful looking callouses on the guitarists fingers, the callouses caused by the musician trying to create something beautiful, trying to communicate and express, trying to silently and musically, scream out to a world that doesn't listen, doesn't care. i remember lyrics to all the songs that adhered to my darkest times. i remember what its like to want to literally, just die, because a certain boy never bothered to look back at all our memories, pretended they were nothing. i remember going for a walk with my i pod and headphones, ending up running, tears threatening to fall down my cheeks, wanting to just run away, just wanting to escape everything. i remember putting my pen down and pushing my history book aside, staring at the chipped blue nail polish on my fingernails, and wanting to give up, because life asks for too much, because life is just so hard.

 i pretend to be like everyone else. i try. i try to make sure i look neat and acceptable to society. i try to laugh at jokes, i try to remember to paint  my nails every now and then, i try to remember to bat my eye lashes at the cute boy sitting next to me at a party. but i don't feel real doing all of that. i don't feel like me. i feel like a puppet on strings, being played by the puppet master, the master being the desire to fit in.
 my plan is to free myself from this stupid puppet master, this stupid theatre, these stupid strings attached to my body, which let society play me however. my plan is to cut my self free from these strings. so i can be whoever i want to be, without caring about what others think. so i can be crazy and weird with freedom, in public, not just where other people can't see me. so i can take this burning sensation in my chest, and no, not put it out, but make it grow . because this burning sensation is what fuels my desires. my passions. my dreams. my goals. my determination. so i can fee myself and run wild. so i can help others do the same.
 i haven't figured out a lot about myself or what i want from myself and this life, but i do know one thing. my life is a message to this world. and i' m going to make sure its inspiring. i' m going to make sure i keep this fire burning.


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