This Friday I got invited to go to the football game.
Apparently the possibility of it being their last game (which it was) makes it crucial for me to be there.
Because my presence in the crowd is a real game changer you know.
But I respectfully declined,
Cause I've got music in my head.
I was also asked to come watch a movie at my friends house that night.
Perhaps I would've met a nice girl. Chances are we might have talked about favorite snack foods, or how we both love cookie dough better than actual cookies. Maybe even our meeting could be the start of a relationship, or eventual high school sweethearts getting married.
But it would probably be just another nice girl I met.
Though none of that mattered, I didn't care to attend.
I've got music in my head, and that's all I need.
My mind composes a symphony so sweet, a melody so marvelous, and a harmony so heavenly that it puts those Friday Night Lights and nice girls to shame.
I weave together rhythm so relaxing it could sing Satan to sleep.
And it's all in my head.
A world so brilliant it dulls my surroundings. Or, rather, my surroundings were never brilliant to begin with.
With my Treble Clef eyes and my Bass Clef heart I keep in time my love for you.
But it's all in my head.
You left bar line scars across my chest because no matter how many key changes I made we still couldn't harmonize.
You had the voice of an angel, but your sheet music is what I fell in love with. I tried to make our lines match up but to you I was a tritone that kept you feeling minor.
Then it ended not long after it began. No repeat, no second verse for us. No d.c. al fine or go to Coda happy ending.
You stopped playing your song for me.
Though I could hear bits of pieces of your sound that infiltrated my music because I couldn't bring myself to forget your melody.
I've got an orchestra. And it's learned a lot. It plays a haunting tune, that captures the beauty of ones soul.
But it is played with empty notes.
The conductor is lonely and heartbroken. No one has shown to watch his orchestra perform, even though it was a sold out show.
The only seat he truly cares about is the vacant one next to the seat of the ticket he has. For he longed for nothing more than to watch his own performance with the only person he had loved. The only person he had shared music with. Yet he continues to play his music.
I'm sorry I haven't posted in awhile. I've been so frustrated lately, as everyone that sleeps under the roof as me has been trying to figure out what is wrong with me.
That's not how it works: Look for the wrong, to make their child right. Maybe we could beat the wrong out of him with a stick made out of ignorance, condescending attitude, and the absence of good parenting.
Makes sense, right?
I hope I don't turn into such a monster when I'm a parent. It's not even the direct things they do, it's the culmination of turning their head the other way and not treating me like I belong in this world.
I've apparently been demoted to the heap of flesh that just eats all their food and sleeps and argues and plays his music too loud and is the source of every problem in this house. Don't forget I'm too unintelligent and mindless to think otherwise though.
In their position, they made the obvious decision to send their "trouble child" to a therapist. Among many things I gained from that appointment, a few stood out to me.
- Not all therapists are crazy psychotic whack-jobs who belong in asylum. In fact, they can be really chill. - I have no home to go to. There is nowhere for me to fall back on. - He diagnosed me with Dysthymic Disorder.Look it up if you really care to know whats wrong with me.
My concern was, now that my parents proved there is something wrong with me, is that the best step to making it right? If not they can always fall back on plan B, beating the bad out of me so only good will be left behind. Logical, I know.
Perhaps all parents at some point go through a mandatory brainwashing to force them to think and treat their offspring and non-adults differently. Maybe when the first child is born they make the parents lose all reasonable feelings and critical thinking skills towards their children by means of some diabolical machine.
(Nelson, please tell me how you avoided being hooked up to that machine, because you're different when it comes to being an adult. I don't want to be an ignorant person. I need to keep my insolence. It keeps me alive) All I want is for someone to prove there is something right about me, that I have purpose in this world. And for someone to provide a home. No, not a place to sleep, but a place where the heart longs to be. A place of comfort. People always say they want to run away, to move out. There has to be a place I belong to before I have a place to leave. There needs a place where what I do right is celebrated. Because right now I don't have a home. And that scares me.
