Anything But Ordinary

            I am weird – – one big difference. I am ALWAYS weird. I always freak myself out because I am a FREAK.

            I always try to blurt out everything but all seems to be in vain. My life has always been in vain. That’s a fact. Even I try hard to make my life a little better, it seems that fate has its own plan for me – – that my life would end soon enough before I notice it- – that all of me is insignificant – – that I am useless – – a fact I always face. When I try to be expressive, I am always afraid that someone would laugh at me – – laugh at all the frivolous stupidity of mine.

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            I hate when I see the faces behind the masks of the people that pretend they like me. But the real thing I do not know and seems not to notice is that I, myself, am the script thing. I force myself to look good, seem good, and act well. The truth is, I am tired and weary of this pretending. I am exhaustively tired – – dead tired I still live, I still feel… I am tired of all the stage plays and script things I am into.

            I just want to be ordinary – – to be common – – to be someone no one would ever notice – – to be no one – – to be buried deep within and hide forever – – in such a way that at last I can be accepted because there is nothing with me. Why did I ever exist when all I do are just devastation? I want to shout but I can not. It is not the way how things should be. All must be proper and I am improper because I am torn and broken and shattered into pieces. Nothing can ever make me any better.

            I smile but behind the bliss come the tears and fear for myself. I am afraid to move that I may upset something. This is the only way I can shout. And sooner, the time and resources I used up shall be wasted. My life is wasted.

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