~~~
"it's a girl!" and fruitless streams of pink and blurred whirls of rushed and blind congratulations. even if they had known what they were getting themselves into, the impact would've been far too miniscule. pure optimism, for lack of a better idea, filled their heads. expecting the best. (as they were likely too fearful of anything but perfection.) ...perfection was far from what they granted. and from the first day-- she just wanted out.
nothing special. nor unique. another 'mass of useless decay'... one could say. perhaps slightly more enthusiastic-slash-curious-slash-oblivious than the rest. mm, and. would they have ever guessed? [that] the lies she lived broke her. (once.) eventually. it took thirteen years. oh, but. as her world crashed. the pretension continued. the proposal, the command, the sentence to a mental institution. ..and more lies, just to influence her departure. ... she did leave.
as change is life's only constant, nothing was level. nothing was consistent. death was an untouchable sweetness, glorified with promises of finalty and peace- sometimes. other days a pact of neutrality was held towards the irrelevant and futile. and the hopeless half-soul went on. (wedon'tknowwhy.) a few weak suicide attempts. ...nothing, of course, impressive. some laughable "self-injury" issues which accomplished little. ...and as passionately as she'll attest it wasn't about the gain of attention, ...oh. it likely was. an eating disorder. ..it's not as though she ever became beautiful enough. though. and lifestyle of which she likes to call perfectionism. (per-fec-tion-ist) ...someone that disgusting should never possess such a pretty label. nonono. but mostly, a bitter bitter depression which she didn't deserve. and any hate held for the rest of the world was almost, always, reciprocated. ...far too dramatic. deserving of punishment, --and not publicity-- above all else.
there were... acquaintances. although she lacked compassion. --born with some emotional defect. she could never feel anything. ...anything real, that is.-- (and oh. the infinite attempts and calls and invitations and presents and company and waves and plastic smiles and empty kisses would not, and could never, alter the truth as, love or an ability to feel which never existed couldn't be revived.)
nonetheless. there (o n c e) lived an older boy who she'd never captivate, beautiful in the way you hate, and as geographically distant from her as she was emotionally distant from consideration in his selective memory. (we can call this the ever-genuine case of unrequ---- well. a mistake.). --- and. a boy trapped in a same-aged body. different. initial. more beautiful than she'd admit. but, should, admit. A blessing to her, in all admission. -- and then a forward thinker (to understate), a breathtaking soul with similar troubles, and similar nefarious compulsion to destroy. the significant contrariety between the two acquaintances, being her vast beauty and her genius, over foster. ...although the prodigy had yet to ever admit to such. fresh skin hid an ancient soul. wisdom,experience,brilliance. beyond beyond her tallied years. amazing friend. and partner in corruption.
she could never connect with her "assigned" family. but went as though she did. (falsehoods and half-truths continually prove to reduce conflict.) and there is/was so little to say of them... She believed it was a matter of time.
oh, and she lived for music. that of Conor Oberst, primarily. hated holidays and prejudice, to believe in their lies, the government, the world, expectations, standards, false beauty, love. ...an insomniac. her like, her need for orange juice was matched only by her desire for understanding. and she used to live for horses. as: they were gorgeous to her, and an amazing "release." mesmerizing and addictive to the point of no return. and, if you ask her, she'll conjure some melodramatic response of "the only cause of real happiness." possible. ...yet. as the fates, content in their demonic success, would have it. horses were ripped away. she was no longer a rider. lacking the means, the financial prearrangement, she'd no long experience the one true calling which brought about sheer bliss. she was fucking deprived, which was probably just, considering something so horrid should rarely experience such unadulterated lapses of beauty. alone in the city, much too far away from glistening emerald grass and stalls and back pastures. from the soft purity of brown coats, from the crushed black running under her fingers and atop her head. without the imperfect and cracked learther of tack and worn riding crops. far from the encouragment of an angelic godsend, a close instructor. distanced from all that she adored. ... with no hopes of ever riding again.
she wanted to be everything, but ambition means nothing in the end. potential is but another word for everything one won't become. she lived a cycle of slow routine, would detest the indifferent clocks, arrogant in their voluntary silence. which ruined her existence by instigating more and more of what she happened to dread. never bringing prosperous contentment, but only fleeting happiness. and more often than not, disappointment. (eventually.) everyday. ...but even as they remained one of her many scapegoats, the repressed angst seemed infrequently released. and the words sound pretty on her black tongue, as she whispers the lie,'i never answer the phone.' usually hid behind nonperscription glasses. gained the mistrust, the hatred, the disgust of many. and, ocassionally caught glimpses of the beauty in the world, [through music. through kindred souls.] something she could be interested in, someone that could be just like her. ...(but she learned: all that's perfect and meant-to-be will never prevail....)
in the end? it was just another helpless beginning. it's almost "just a matter of time." a question of pointless time. for what is time, anyway? but only an illusion. just like her.
...
and. the afore mentioned duration, the luckless "thirteen years" -- plusone. (plustwo, three. she'll never reach it.) -- exactly what it took. to finally accept. ...she's not. really. there.
~~~~