[oneshot] As I See It
Title: As I See It
ORIGINAL
ONE SHOT
Comments: I think I like exploring myself through these short little spewings. This is a reflection of someone in my life. If you can't guess who it is, that's alright. You don't need to know.
A fickle person; far too choosy. It is near impossible to meet her expectations, so far up they are, and yet she expects satisfaction.
It is as if she expects everyone around her to be able to read her mind. But that can never be accomplished, as her mood changes as often as the world rotates around the Sun. We are expected to rotate around her.
On tip-toe we walk, and she hears it and she doesn’t hear it. One never knows until she suddenly pins you down with her voice, harsh and unrelenting.
And she resembles her mother, don’t you know? You can tell they are the same: loud with their voice and afraid of their emotions. No, they are not afraid; they just cannot recognize their emotions. Thus, they don’t know what to do with them.
I know they don’t know what to do with them. She doesn’t know how much I want her to be happy; doesn’t see the sacrifices I make to avoid her noisy outbreaks. She doesn’t know what I want; she doesn’t even know what she wants sometimes. A strange relationship exists between us, and I don’t know if it will be able to stand the time. I’m not too sure I even want it to stand the time, as awful as that may be.
But the ties between us will always be there, no matter how faint and no matter how thin.
I’ve given up precious things to keep her awkward interactions at bay, for when she is confronted with her unknown emotions she deals with it the only way she knows. And I know this, yet it still hurts when she lashes out, only because I’ve relinquished so much for her. I truly want her to see this, I truly do. But she won’t see the truth in my words.
That is what hurts the most. She expects so much, and yet she does nothing with our expectations. She either doesn’t know what they are or she doesn’t know how to meet them. It doesn’t matter, I suppose, for she wouldn’t change. She won’t change for you, she won’t change for me, she won’t change for anybody or for anything.
So I can’t go to her for anything. If I bare my soul to her she will not know what to do with it, and in her ignorance she will slash me apart. I keep myself hidden, from her and from the world, no matter what I do.
When I accomplish something great, she says congratulations and offers goods bought with money. Nothing more, nothing less. When I make a mistake, she pounces on it and sticks poisonous barbs into my being. Sometimes harsher, sometimes gentler. My walls are non-existent against her great strength, because I am unwillingly to make walls between us. I take the brunt of her attacks and injured, continue on.
I will eventually heal, but the memories will haunt and weigh down on me. Why can’t you do this right? Her shrill voice will forever follow me, and I will forever doubt myself and my abilities. I will become afraid to make mistakes, I will second-guess my decisions and I will travel in circles, only because I am comfortable in them. I won’t look for a shoulder to cry on, I won’t whisper my secrets to a friendly ear and I won’t interact well in society. Surely this isn’t what she would want of me?
Will I live, stiff with my emotions, for the rest of my life? I hope I don’t fall down, I hope I don’t break apart, I hope I don’t collapse in despair.
I dearly wish I do not become like her.
ORIGINAL
ONE SHOT
Comments: I think I like exploring myself through these short little spewings. This is a reflection of someone in my life. If you can't guess who it is, that's alright. You don't need to know.
A fickle person; far too choosy. It is near impossible to meet her expectations, so far up they are, and yet she expects satisfaction.
It is as if she expects everyone around her to be able to read her mind. But that can never be accomplished, as her mood changes as often as the world rotates around the Sun. We are expected to rotate around her.
On tip-toe we walk, and she hears it and she doesn’t hear it. One never knows until she suddenly pins you down with her voice, harsh and unrelenting.
And she resembles her mother, don’t you know? You can tell they are the same: loud with their voice and afraid of their emotions. No, they are not afraid; they just cannot recognize their emotions. Thus, they don’t know what to do with them.
I know they don’t know what to do with them. She doesn’t know how much I want her to be happy; doesn’t see the sacrifices I make to avoid her noisy outbreaks. She doesn’t know what I want; she doesn’t even know what she wants sometimes. A strange relationship exists between us, and I don’t know if it will be able to stand the time. I’m not too sure I even want it to stand the time, as awful as that may be.
But the ties between us will always be there, no matter how faint and no matter how thin.
I’ve given up precious things to keep her awkward interactions at bay, for when she is confronted with her unknown emotions she deals with it the only way she knows. And I know this, yet it still hurts when she lashes out, only because I’ve relinquished so much for her. I truly want her to see this, I truly do. But she won’t see the truth in my words.
That is what hurts the most. She expects so much, and yet she does nothing with our expectations. She either doesn’t know what they are or she doesn’t know how to meet them. It doesn’t matter, I suppose, for she wouldn’t change. She won’t change for you, she won’t change for me, she won’t change for anybody or for anything.
So I can’t go to her for anything. If I bare my soul to her she will not know what to do with it, and in her ignorance she will slash me apart. I keep myself hidden, from her and from the world, no matter what I do.
When I accomplish something great, she says congratulations and offers goods bought with money. Nothing more, nothing less. When I make a mistake, she pounces on it and sticks poisonous barbs into my being. Sometimes harsher, sometimes gentler. My walls are non-existent against her great strength, because I am unwillingly to make walls between us. I take the brunt of her attacks and injured, continue on.
I will eventually heal, but the memories will haunt and weigh down on me. Why can’t you do this right? Her shrill voice will forever follow me, and I will forever doubt myself and my abilities. I will become afraid to make mistakes, I will second-guess my decisions and I will travel in circles, only because I am comfortable in them. I won’t look for a shoulder to cry on, I won’t whisper my secrets to a friendly ear and I won’t interact well in society. Surely this isn’t what she would want of me?
Will I live, stiff with my emotions, for the rest of my life? I hope I don’t fall down, I hope I don’t break apart, I hope I don’t collapse in despair.
I dearly wish I do not become like her.