Scream

Too bad I'm too busy worrying how that'll show up on my rep to even attempt it.

I don't dare to scream--my throat's too tight from keeping all the screams in. Model student one day, screaming maniac the next. No one knows. No one knows how much I want to run somewhere and scream my head off.

Too bad I'm too busy worrying how that'll show up on my rep to even attempt it.

Like a bird, I flutter from emotion to emotion. I can't hold grudges, I can't feel love. I jump from group to group, friend to friend. Can't seem to stick with one person, or one people. Can't seem to remember the good times, can't seem to forget the bad times.
They haunt me, the bad times. Railing at myself for mistakes seen in hindsight, traps yawning before rushing feet. Compared to the neighbors so much that I've lost any trace of self-confidence I once had of myself. Lost all self-esteem.

Clench my teeth, bear it in. Remember a song to contain that frustration of not screaming. The weight of my heart sinks me to my knees; my spine stands straight and refuses to buckle. It doesn't know when to buckle; too proud to ask for help. Don't scream, don't scream.
I want to scream.

Music is a salvation, a salve. A balm over invisible wounds. Take a few seconds and truly listen to the beat, calms me down like nothing else can. I can tell myself to change the channel when I don't like it. I'm in control.
Rip it away, I'm screaming. Not the words I want to scream, but I'm screaming.

It doesn't make me feel any better.

Exhausted from lack of sleep, of weariness, of restlessness and ghosts and memories that come haunting at one a.m. Tired from molding myself to fit. Sleepy from running until I can't run any longer, to be alive for a little while.

All the good memories are fairy tales that never happened. All the bad memories are thrust away, until the window is opened and they're let it.

At least I can run.

Never been to a wedding. Never been to a funeral. Never been on an adventure. Been on more than enough troubles. I draw my worldly knowledge from books. That isn't right, is it? Who are the ones who give you all you need to know and more?

During the day, I dream about my dreams. Running to the middle of a field, a muddy field with the scent of grass rising up, of leaves slapping tree trunks, of dripping water. Rain. I run to the middle and scream defiance at the sky, scream and scream and scream. No words needed. Thunderclouds rumble, and before I know it, I'm being struck by a bolt of lightning from the heavens. Lifted off the ground, flesh crackling, still screaming. Lightning entwining.
I drop to the ground. The brief moment was gone, all too fast. Daydreaming I was still alive, and living to experience it. Forgotten dreams come unbidden to mind, and the daydream breaks.

So many expectations hang heavy over my head. I can't breathe, can't walk, can't talk. Only, I do breathe, walk, talk. Pressing onto my shoulders, because of my skin color, where I was from, where I was born. Expected to perform, to be the best, and they're disappointed when I'm not the best. I'm disappointed when I am the best.

Too concerned with what others think of me, I can't think of who I am. My own image does not come to mind--I am built of other's words. Tiptoeing past volatile situations, always backing away, shying away. I'm the one who ends up crying.

I can't even scream to let out my fear. Frustration. Sadness. Anger. Annoyance. I can't scream, too busy concerned with myself to consider it.

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