gifted

Somedays I wake up and rot like an overripe fruit in my bed.

I stare at the bumps caked on the ceiling like acne that's been caked over with foundation.

I feel the blankets rubbing against my bare legs like wind against a cactus.

Sometimes passion is dormant and winter is long. The seasons don't feel like seasons anymore, but just a perpetual state of grey, dull emptiness. Of longing to just get up and do something meaningful.

I have to close my eyes and even when I don't want to and reluctance has built a strong bastion to shield my Desire and Motivation--I pray.

I pray and I thank God for waking me up in the morning.

Even if I am a nobody. Even if when I climb down the ladder to my bunk bed I feel like I am a landfill of wasted time. It would be easy to tell me as long as I am trying there is worth in me. But I've stopped trying.

Pathetic.

Loser.

Quitter.

JUST FUCKING DO SOMETHING.

Blank eyes. Taut throat. Silent tears.

I can't even pray out loud sometimes because I hate the sound of my voice. So I whisper it softly in my head because even my thoughts are saturated with disgust.

Dear God, Thank you for this beautiful day.

It's raining. I like the rain.

Thank you for my comfortable bed and my windows that overlook my grandma's garden. I like looking at the flowers.

You know, flowers don't have to do anything. All they do is sit on the ground and wait for the sun to rise and the rain to pour and somehow they're still beautiful. I guess I'm not a flower that blooms all year round. Maybe for a week, a season if I'm lucky.

Thank you for the rain, it calms my mind. Thank you for all my friends, who love me, but don't know how to help me.

I watch the soft puffs of my incense machine spill out a lavender scent that sticks to the walls of my room and all my sweatshirts. I can hear my brother's T.V. from his room down the hall.

Thank you for protecting me. Bless all my friends, they deserve it. I hope Trevor does well on his finals and that Maddi will get into the college she wants.

I go on and on.

Is this all I can do? I wish I could stand up. I wish I could just get up and do something.

Thank you...please help...

I don't pray for myself. I usually forget to. But I care more about my friends than myself. They deserve prayer more than me.

They all have futures. I haven't gotten up in two days. I've stared at my computer screen and gotten up to eat food. My cello sits under the cork board in my room. Yeah, I used to be top in my class. They called me gifted.

Ha. Haha.

Sometimes child-like passion fades. Sometimes life hits you so hard that you're not ripe and promising. You're bruised and tender, broken, hurt, feel a little too much, care a little less, and become a little bit more selfish.

FUCK.

I don't want to be this way.

I could sketch something. I would stare at the page forever.

I could pick up my cello. I'm sure my fingers don't play like they used to.

Sorry God, sometimes I get distracted when I pray. I pray against anything that would try and break me and my friends apart. I pray that you give them long life and favor.

I could dance. I just can't.

They told me I had potential.

Potential.

potentialpotentialpotential.

I hate that word.

How do they know what I'll be? They don't.

Sometimes adults make promises for you that you can't keep.