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The Confessional



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Sat Jul 28, 2012 4:40 am
The Confessional says...



The Confessional wrote:I'm not normal. People tell me that I've come back, come back from that far gone place that still leaves an uncertain twinkle in their eyes when they look at me, but I haven't. Part of me is still back there, and probably always will be. Sometimes I can switch over to it, watch it sit in a corner in fetal position, or lay in the road screaming.
I hate that no one understands. I hate that I can't talk to my family, and my friends think they get it so that rules them out too. I hate those doctors who said "there's nothing wrong with you", and then when I repeated their words they told me "yes there is". I hate being gay. I hate being crazy.
I'm angry, and nobody knows it.


Ok, first thing's first.
I hate being gay.

There's really nothing you can do about that really, there's no use crying over spilled milk.

Second:
I hate being crazy.

That's just how you are. I'm crazy and i don't deny it.

Third:
I'm angry, and nobody knows it

Tell people you're because that's really the only way they're gonna know.

Fourth:
I hate being gay. I hate being crazy.
I'm angry, and nobody knows it

Almost nothing in this world is easy. Including being yourself.

Fifth:
It may seem like i'm just being rude or indifferent, but i'm telling you this because i think it'll help(that's assuming that the person who posted this ever even reads this) the only way you'll ever be able to be happy with yourself is if you accept yourself and speak up about your feelings. It'll make things alot easier if you do. There are so many things i hate about myself, but they're things i can't really fix. I accept my self.
'It is the confession, not the priest, that gives us absolution.'
- Oscar Wilde
  





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Sat Jul 28, 2012 4:58 am
AlmondEyes says...



The Confessional wrote:I'm not normal. People tell me that I've come back, come back from that far gone place that still leaves an uncertain twinkle in their eyes when they look at me, but I haven't. Part of me is still back there, and probably always will be. Sometimes I can switch over to it, watch it sit in a corner in fetal position, or lay in the road screaming.
I hate that no one understands. I hate that I can't talk to my family, and my friends think they get it so that rules them out too. I hate those doctors who said "there's nothing wrong with you", and then when I repeated their words they told me "yes there is". I hate being gay. I hate being crazy.
I'm angry, and nobody knows it.



There's nothing wrong with being gay. I was raised to accept people for who they are not their sexual orientation or otherwise. If you need a friend just hit me up. i also wrote the post right above this one. I'm here if you need me.
-janika :wink:
"What is dead my never die, but rises again, larger and stronger..."

*Ride like Lightening, crash like Thunder*


"Ask me no questions, and I'll tell you no lies..."
  





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Sat Jul 28, 2012 9:47 am
The Confessional says...



I have doubt in my mind. Will it work out? Will it no? Who knows what will happen to us? In 5 years time, maybe even 1, we may never talk again. I'm afraid it will just..end. I'm scared of life and I'm scared of losing her.
'It is the confession, not the priest, that gives us absolution.'
- Oscar Wilde
  





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Sat Jul 28, 2012 9:12 pm
The Confessional says...



I miss you, Dad. I hate to say it, but I do. You've been missing from my life for a large part of it, but I want you to come home quickly and safely. <3
'It is the confession, not the priest, that gives us absolution.'
- Oscar Wilde
  





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Sat Jun 21, 2014 12:46 pm
The Confessional says...



Sometimes I worry that I'm as passive-aggressive as my parents. I've always hated that about them, but it feels like I'm becoming like that as well.
'It is the confession, not the priest, that gives us absolution.'
- Oscar Wilde
  





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Sat Jun 21, 2014 3:17 pm
The Confessional says...



You raised me like a princess.
I never did the chores;
I never learned how to cook,
like a real woman should.
Like you do.
You showed me that life
was supposed to be a fifties sitcom:
mom stays at home
to dress the kids,
to send them off to school
with a kiss on the cheek,
to do the dishes,
to vacuum away outward unhappiness,
then welcome her husband home
from work with a chaste peck on the cheek.
You showed me that affection
should be shown with gushy cards
that precede chilly embraces
that seem to last too long
and too short at the same time.
You showed me that it was easy
to lie and get away with it
because your gullibility never caught the lies
I spewed when I was on the line.
Your hands taught me that
it was okay to be rough with someone
when they weren’t doing
what you wanted them to.
You quelled my rebellions
with red handprints
and screaming.
You taught me the names
of all the birds we saw;
I still remember when I saw
a Kestrel hawk for the first time,
sitting on the telephone wire above
the compass plants
on that road of ours
that was once gravel.
You taught me that dignity
and escaping trouble
were more important
than honesty
when you apologized
for the red print across my
eight year old face,
and told me with your eyes
not to tell anyone about it.
You taught me that I am not worthy
to be called beautiful
when you agreed that I needed
to lose weight,
and when you sighed that I would find a guy
“someday,” with a glance at my thighs.

And now you want to keep me home
to hold me again under your regime.
I will not be locked in a tower again.
I will scrape my knees,
apologize, and begin with an empty chalkboard.
You keep your erasers under lock and key,
But here they are given out
on street corners
by people who love me
with less than the back of their hand
and more than an awkward embrace.
'It is the confession, not the priest, that gives us absolution.'
- Oscar Wilde
  





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Sun Jun 22, 2014 11:59 pm
The Confessional says...



From highschool to collage every woman I ever dated betrayed me, tricked me, lied to me, abused me. I wanted to much to trust someone and lay my heart open to them, but could never find such a person. Always cheated on, always lied to, always avoided in the end.
Be it a hug, a kiss, a friendly wave, everything in the end was denied to me.

Why am I not allowed to trust anyone? Why can't I feel anything anymore?
'It is the confession, not the priest, that gives us absolution.'
- Oscar Wilde
  





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Wed Jun 25, 2014 7:12 am
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The Confessional says...



Whenever I cook I use my ground-up toenails as the special spice.

Oddly, not one person has complained about the flavour and now I think I may be a culinary genius.
'It is the confession, not the priest, that gives us absolution.'
- Oscar Wilde
  





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Points: 456
Reviews: 23
Fri Jun 27, 2014 2:33 pm
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Sampson says...



I feel no need in logging out of my account, plus none of you know me so I think I'm fine confessing right here. All of my characters are somehow loosely based on real people and I don't always know who they are, so when I finish a book I try to find out who a certain character was based off of and I've found that in most of my stories the character based off of myself, who isn't always the protagonist, is killed off.
  





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Fri Jul 04, 2014 4:54 am
The Confessional says...



I realized recently that many of my writings center around the same thing. And that same thing is him.

I love him to death, and he knows this. We are closer than friends should maybe be. He comes first to me, always, even the other day when we were hanging out and I was 'with' another guy. I was talking about him the other day and somebody told me, "You light up when you talk about him." A midnight walk at a party and the person I was with announced that people still think we should be together.

I've started to recognize that I look at him differently, and that I smile at him differently, and I've started to become conscious of how much attention I pay to him.

I realized recently that my poems are all about him because maybe I don't just love him as a friend...
'It is the confession, not the priest, that gives us absolution.'
- Oscar Wilde
  








I have hated words and I have loved them, and I hope I have made them right.
— Markus Zusak, The Book Thief