I'm not saying who's POV this is from. I'll sure you'll guess :D
I found it in my heart, finally, to look deep inside me, and find the little part that was missing.
I knew. I didn't need anyone to tell me what I needed. Of course I knew.
As I looked back into my past, my bad past, I saw things. Some things I can't even mention. I had never really thought as I had acted, I just did what I pleased. And I wondered... was that right?
I didn't think so. I knew it. I knew everyone would never appreciate me, the real me, not my insecure side. I'm different from everyone else, and I hated that. I hated the way I had dyed my hair green when I was younger, or the anger I had felt when I stabbed my piercings into my body. I hated it, I did.
But how did I realize? Shut up. You don't need to know that. No one needs to know why I'm like this, why I'm always so angered and frustrated. Why I'm never on Santa's "nice" list, and I can never seem to find any one who really appreciates me.
Why do I even exist? Why am I not dead? Ha, I would like to be. If I was, I wouldn't be here. Not like this. I hated the way everyone looked at me; suspiciously, like I couldn't be trusted. And they were right, I couldn't.
Rage has driven me this far. I like being a juvenile delinquent, in school people thought it was cool, and I know that some chicks find bad-boys "hot", and a shadow creeps across me.
I don't like it. But this may sound usual. I don't like anything.
I want to change myself, to change my personality, to be one of those guys at the mall who get all the girls, who are forever challenging each other to video games, those who have a normal life.
But I can't. Ever.
And that's what I hate so much about my life. That I can't change anything. I'll always be me, and I can't do anything about it.
But fury burns in me as I rise up; as I stand, and it reminds me that I could have changed it. I could have listened, and at least done a few helpful things when I was younger, and not become... well, me.
But I didn't. And I don't think I'll ever get another chance.
I found it in my heart, finally, to look deep inside me, and find the little part that was missing.
I knew. I didn't need anyone to tell me what I needed. Of course I knew.
As I looked back into my past, my bad past, I saw things. Some things I can't even mention. I had never really thought as I had acted, I just did what I pleased. And I wondered... was that right?
I didn't think so. I knew it. I knew everyone would never appreciate me, the real me, not my insecure side. I'm different from everyone else, and I hated that. I hated the way I had dyed my hair green when I was younger, or the anger I had felt when I stabbed my piercings into my body. I hated it, I did.
But how did I realize? Shut up. You don't need to know that. No one needs to know why I'm like this, why I'm always so angered and frustrated. Why I'm never on Santa's "nice" list, and I can never seem to find any one who really appreciates me.
Why do I even exist? Why am I not dead? Ha, I would like to be. If I was, I wouldn't be here. Not like this. I hated the way everyone looked at me; suspiciously, like I couldn't be trusted. And they were right, I couldn't.
Rage has driven me this far. I like being a juvenile delinquent, in school people thought it was cool, and I know that some chicks find bad-boys "hot", and a shadow creeps across me.
I don't like it. But this may sound usual. I don't like anything.
I want to change myself, to change my personality, to be one of those guys at the mall who get all the girls, who are forever challenging each other to video games, those who have a normal life.
But I can't. Ever.
And that's what I hate so much about my life. That I can't change anything. I'll always be me, and I can't do anything about it.
But fury burns in me as I rise up; as I stand, and it reminds me that I could have changed it. I could have listened, and at least done a few helpful things when I was younger, and not become... well, me.
But I didn't. And I don't think I'll ever get another chance.
