A Gloomy Outlook On Life

There is a ticking on my window pane. I think it's a fly trying to get inside. I hear a scrape against the glass. The house always did get in the way of things. The sky is gray, as if today it was having a bad day, it didn't feel like being blue. Thats kind of like me. Sometimes I dont want to be a girl, be a blonde, be a green eyed monster of a person. Sometimes I want to change, morph, grow, in fact I feel that constantly.

I hate the mirror, if it was a person, i'd beat it up. If I was strong I would beat people up, instead of acting like I could beat the shit out of a gaint, but nobody knows I can't. My breath makes a fog against the glass, it spikes up, and dies away, much like my mood this day. One moment I want to fly, and the next I wish I was planted to the ground, dead, done.

The wooden floor hurts my feet, maybe because I was running in the roses again, stepping on every thorn. And every one hurt. Every one felt like a fatal prick, no matter how big or small it was. I look at the bottom of my toes and try to make pictures out of the scrapes. I see a tree on my big toe, a sunflower on my pinky toe, and a man on my middle toe. He doesn't look at me, but ignores my search of his face. I've been ignored before, nothing new. And I've been praised, lifted up on high shoulders, only to be dropped down right as I was reaching the clouds. Outside they are white, a contrast to the gloomy sky. They want to stand out yet every one has the same color, and always change, but I can't pick one out from the other. They fly so high, about the rest of the world, yet they are destinded to disappear, be forgotten. I wouldn't want to be a cloud.

A black ant is crawling up the wall. He's all alone. My fist instinct is to kill it, since I have a fear of insects, but I take a second glance at it. In it's own way, its beautiful. It doesn't bother anyone, it doesn't call attention to itself. It's back shell shines, I go to touch it but it runs away. A lot of things run away when I go near. A lot of beautiful things. When I try to grasp them they slip through my fingers like water, which never stays in one place.

Oh, how I wish I was water, so clear, so fresh, so needed. We would all die if there was no water. But the world wouldn't perish if I died. I don't think any one would notice, but im too afraid to test that tempation. I'm afraid of a lot of things. I'm afraid that I will never get up from this window, that I'll be stuck here forever. I'm afraid the tree wont grow any further. I'm afraid I'll be killed by the thorns. I'm afraid I'll become a cloud, I'll disappear and be forgotton. I'm afraid I'll never be like an ant, I'm afraid I'll never be beautiful in my own way, or even beautiful at all. And I'm afraid I'll leave this world unnoticed, unneeded, unwanted. But most of all I'm afraid to let all of this out.