Contemplating Paint
Stuck in my room contemplating the paint on the wall, wondering about myself, trying to figure out what happened to me, pondering this thing called life. Being the youngest child has taught me a lot about fucked up situations. I’ve always been known as the smart one, the “good son”. Which really just means I’m a little pussy. Nothing ever seems to go right for me. I can’t even have proper self-pity. Everyone has judged me as the child who understands it all, wiser beyond his years, but they still talk to me like a young child. I guess that I still am though. I’m still stuck at the age when my parents got divorced. Unable to grow up past that point, trying to act like nothing bothers me. People screw with my emotions and give me lip and I walk away like I am better than that, but I am really just too scared to make a commotion. I feel like everyone lives their lives and I get to be part of them when it’s convenient. Do you know what it’s like to have a girlfriend that doesn’t want people to know your dating or to have a brother who always tries to make excuses for you in front of his friends on why your just not cool? Do you know what it feels like when you have friends that pick on you in front of others, but love you when nobody else is around? These are the things that I deal with daily. Continually I get dealt with a smart remark or carefree attitude. Brushed aside like nothing. I have hopes and dreams of someday being great. These ideas are undermined by a lack of support by the people that love me. So I sit in my room on a Wednesday night with a broken finger from the block that smashed it and a broken heart from the call that crushed it. I can’t really call her the girl that got away, because I was never close to getting her in the first place. Looks like it’s going to be another awesome girl to add to the let’s be friends list. I guess by now I should understand and just give up, but it still hurts me every single time. Somewhere out there God has a woman for the future, but for now my heart turns inside out, my fists ball up, and my eyes swell, this is how I contemplate the paint on my wall.
— Originally published in 2002 —
