I came across a couple of things i wrote in the past year or so.
Sometimes just writing them for others to see helps.
there's no explanation with these- just words as i wrote them.
my fingers hold so tightly onto the box.
it is messy.
screwed up and a total wreck.
i made it quickly, without any plans or idea of what i was doing, simply knowing i wanted a box.
if i let someone else who knows how to fix it take it from my hands, it will be bettered.
But i don't know that i want that.
Because, even though it's messy and probably doesn't even look like a box, it's mine.
I made it.
And i have control.
But do i really want control over something that is useless?
something i'll end up looking at and regretting or wanting to destroy?
sometimes it gets lonely behind a wall. even if the wall has a door in it and people are able to go in and out, sometimes the people i want to talk to are the ones who were the reason i built the wall. But then, through the wall, i hear the taunts and the shouts and all they are saying... and i'm grateful for the wall again, Because they're not able to see how each look, or each word they throw at me actually hits me. I built the wall to make them think that they can't get to me, that i'm fine and don't care. But no wall is perfect. They have cracks, holes. I can still hear. The actual use of the wall is to hide me when the words actually pierce my heart and the looks make me want to cry... But they don't know that. All they see is the wall. The coldness and immobility - how i wish they see me. I can't be moved, emotionally or even physically. As sad or depressing as that thought is- it works for me. Because those few times i feel the words thru the wall, there are more times i have become like the wall.
i am unable to show emotion.