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~*~Winter Extreme~*~
A brush on one's cheek Everyone has hard times once in awhile, I found, when I had mine, that it was easier to cope when I read others stories and thoughts. Here are some of my own... If you saw me here, sitting here, you'd wonder, why is she the way she seems? I've got a mask, it's over my eyes now. It covers my feelings up, so they don't show. She is sad. She is lonely, and she wants, she wants passion. She has faith, but it's running out. She is scared, she wants more then she has. She's afraid of what might happen today, to her, to you. She has a spirit, which can be broken in two, if you force her to do what you want and not what she believes in. If you saw me here, sitting here you would wonder, why is she the way she seems? But you don't know her. She's got a mask, it's over her eyes, can you see them? Red and swollen? She cries, she cries day and night, and you wonder what she does by herself. She can see them, crying by themselves. They're her ghosts, they're her demons. And you wonder why she gets these crazy ideas, she wants to protect them. Can't you see? She sees clearer then you ever will, don't you know. She is sad, for them, lonely for their company, that is why she risks it all. She has a passion, which you may never see, she hides it well, she is scared, of what she has passed, she has seen so much. She feels like no one cares, can you help her, to understand? She has moments in her lifetime, so short as it may have seemed. She wants so much, to help so much, why isn't the world listening? She has moments, such sweet moments, when all she wants is love. She can taste it, she can feel it, but it's not really there. She has infatuations, oh so many. She tries to explain them oh, but no one seems to listen, no one seems to hear. She is sad, she is lonely, no one cares as the days go by, and you wonder why she is the way she seems. And you wonder why she is the way she seems. ~Written by myself in February of 1999 as a songEntriesJanuary 26, 1999: I'm so depressed. I'm crying, it's been coming on for days. I'm worthless. I'm no good at anything, not dancing, singing, acting, writing, nothing I like to do. The people at dance are always correcting me, only me. I always do something wrong. No one talks to me at school. I want them to talk to me! I want to work in International Affairs, I can't, I don't have good enough grades. I'm so lonely, so lonely. HELP! I want so much. I find myself almost crying in school, wanting to skip classes. I never want to talk to anyone again! I want to crawl into a hole and die.... July 18, 1999: Why can't I express myself? I always feel awful when I do wrong, but I keep it inside, but then everyone thinks I'm cold and never sorry. How would they know how I feel? Nobody but the God/dess knows anything about me, not even myself. Visit my page on depression here for more of my story. Poetry of the ShadowsAfraidSo scared of things I don't understand Starve Myself I starve myself The little Doodle One day I drew, I drew a picture of mountains and gullies and streams, I drew. I showed my picture to a friend, "It's just a little doodle", she said. So as I thought and pondered and wondered over my picture I began to think of how when I make something, it is so special, but it's never so special to the one you share it with. It's just a little doodle.
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