thememo.docx

People are always fascinated by me. This is a simple fact I've come to know and live with, not something I assume. I am the strange gunk in everyone’s science project; they all crowd around when I react to things, especially when I get unstable. I guess I’ve been this way the entirety of my life; I’m not sure who I’d be otherwise.

We’re all hypocritical in many ways, but I feel like a walking contradiction. I obey rules, but I desperately claw for moments of unpredictability I can control to take the spotlight. I want love and attention. I want a pat on the back for trying even though I didn’t make the part. And maybe a rough stubble of a slight beard while a kiss is planted on me, the lips plump and smooth- not cracked and bleeding like mine. I want to be the one everyone wants to cradle because I am so fragile and broken that I might shatter if you let go.

I get on my knees and pray every night, asking for another chance to prove myself. Being granted another chance is like being invited to the dinner table, with possibly a place to sit.

I guess what I’m trying to say is:

I’m sorry for breaking your fence.

I’m sorry for shoving you to the ground.

I’m sorry for breaking your face and blowing my cigarette smoke in it, too.

I’m sorry for relentlessly letting you down.

I’m sorry for stealing the attention every second you were trying to breathe.

I’m sorry for everything.

I quit smoking, fighting, and crushing my chance for change.

Maybe now I can say goodnight and mean it and no one will think anything of it.