Young Writers Society

Why is it that I dwell on it so much?

I just continuously sit there and place them as the superior being?

WHY?!

I just have to make them the gods above, and place myself so low, and now that I’m “in” with them, I just put myself down and constantly look up to them, not worshiping, but hating; just endless spite towards them.

I want so much to be one, it is almost the dream to end all dreams for me, and in my mind I always sit and imagine what it would be like, just for one day.

One day to just be there, be with them, in their elusive world, where behind a closed door all the judgments that matter to me are made, all the jokes I miss, all the moments I have to lie and pretend that I know, just to once be able to say I have that surname.

It is also this dream I have that I am glad didn’t happen, I imagine, being there, being stupid in comparison to them, not know anything, the constant judgment that wouldn’t be said behind my back, but to my face, that is why I am glad I am not there, but yet I wish I could be there, more than anything in the world.

I just lie. Lie, lie, lie, lie, and lie.

I don’t know who I am, who am I?

I am lost, someone who has been trying to be something for so long that I have turned into what I was trying to become, and I can’t find my way back; do I want to go back? No, but I wonder, yet I am wondering over everything I do in my life, every single choice I make, and I think, would he?
Would she?

And I sit and answer blindly, yet somehow conscious of what I have just done, and it is that that builds upon my despair, that which builds an illustrious castle upon the foundation of spite, laid out over my lost self.

To sum it up in a whole, everything I do is for it, everything I do is to be similar to them, I am a tool; used by myself.

Now I just have to sit and listen, in my current state, to the constant blabbing of those included around me, and I have to say that it makes me question my existence.

How can you think of doing something so rash over something so silly?!

Ill tell you damn-it, Passion, desire to succeed, want, and her!

Her.

Oh her, so beautiful, so mysterious, so intelligent, but I have been around long enough to realize that you are so empty, and that your just as dumb as the people you think you can look down upon, the “dumb” ones.

Well I always defended them, always said now wait… and you know why?

Because they were my friends, of course I’ve changed now, and I don’t speak to them much anymore, but they’re smart, they’re great people!

You think that it’s your people, the stoners and slackers that will be the ones to flourish, fuck no, it’ll be the hard working ones who understand how to be a good person, not some judgmental bitch who doesn’t know what she’s talking about half the time, and only goes by what others say; you are they second biggest tool.

Why am I still around you?

Is it because of love?

I don’t know, I cant love anymore, and you can’t get that because I cant explain it to you, because last time I did your ass went off on me because you thought I was intruding, and you wont get it because your there, and you wont get it cause your just arrogant.

I don’t know about loving anymore, I just don’t want to go cause I’m afraid, but your just so infectious to me, always making me hate myself that much more, making me feel jealous, and aware of my position, when you know damn well that it bothers me, use some damn common sense and see that it hurts me!!!

I want to tell you this, but I find myself just choking it all down.

Now I think I’m better, that I am above them, but I still know where I am, and it is because of this I want the power more, I want to crush them all, kill everyone of them, and make me the one.

I hate me, you, them, it, and life.

I want to take my own, just to get away from this horrible, deep, dark pit I’ve dug down into.

Then comes her, the one who trained us all, but you seemed to receive the better end of that stick.

You always have to talk about how much better she is to you, how much more fun, how much more freedom, I hate you all, every single one of you, you make me want to die, this isn’t helping at all.

S.S.

-Not sure if this constitutes as Dramatic poetry.