To them, I must be happy. Obviously perfect, calm, emotionless, happy, blonde beauty. Pretty, perky and perfect.
That's just the girl they see in the mirror. That's just how I look. That's not who I am.
Why are people so wrapped up in their own mess, their own problems that they can't see other people's, even if they are painfully obvious? Even if you go out and say it. Today, I was hanging out with my brother's friend's family. I went to his sister, and I said hello. She says something about me, and I fake a laugh, saying, "I would kill myself before that happened."
That's so true, but she laughed anyway, and replied, "You're such a bad actor."
How? What? Why? WTF?
I'm not lying. I don't want to die, I have stated that myself so many times. But for someone who doesn't want to die, I also want to. I've heard once you're dead, they finally start to listen to you. They finally start to notice what you've done. Look at Vincent Van Gogh. Beethoven. Da Vinci. I'm pretty sure none of their things were worth much until they got buried six feet under. Vincent Van Gogh cut off his own ear.
How do you see me? Of course, you've never seen me, but how do you view me? Do you picture me as a girl dressed in black, or someone with fake smiley faces on everything? Do you picture me in the art room drawing hopeless portraits and abstract, or do you picture me in a corner crying? Do you picture me faking a smile everyday of my life, or do you see me not even trying to be what they expect?
Everyone of those is true. Depends who you are, depends how many scars of mine you've seen, and how many you've been the reason for.
Depends what you know and what you don't. If I have a need to impress you, I'm going to make you see a smiley girl. If you're no one to me, and all I can see is who you couldn't be, then I'm going to be myself, and you're going to run away or maybe stay and become you I thought you could never be.
But how do they see us? DO they see through our smiles, and just pretend not to notice because it's too hard to face the reality that it's not all rainbows and sunshine and happiness, unless you've lived through the storm, unless you've lived through the night, unless you've lived through the sadness.
And I'm not sure if I will.
How do you see me? Of course, you've never seen me, but how do you view me? Do you picture me as a girl dressed in black, or someone with fake smiley faces on everything? Do you picture me in the art room drawing hopeless portraits and abstract, or do you picture me in a corner crying? Do you picture me faking a smile everyday of my life, or do you see me not even trying to be what they expect?
Everyone of those is true. Depends who you are, depends how many scars of mine you've seen, and how many you've been the reason for.
Depends what you know and what you don't. If I have a need to impress you, I'm going to make you see a smiley girl. If you're no one to me, and all I can see is who you couldn't be, then I'm going to be myself, and you're going to run away or maybe stay and become you I thought you could never be.
But how do they see us? DO they see through our smiles, and just pretend not to notice because it's too hard to face the reality that it's not all rainbows and sunshine and happiness, unless you've lived through the storm, unless you've lived through the night, unless you've lived through the sadness.
And I'm not sure if I will.
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