You hate being seen. Not because you're afraid of what other people think of you when you're not wearing make-up. Not because you're self conscious in its typical description. It's just because you're not 100% with yourself. Why should the world see you, when you yourself don't even want to. So you dress for comfort, hoping that the bogan look will distract people from the look on your face that says, "fuck off, I don't want to be around people today..."You roughly do your hair, you wear long tights and a hoodie. And thongs. You walk to buy a book, and say nothing to the guy at the register because you seriously can't be fucked being nice. Looking like this, not speaking, makes you happy. You are free to think, to feel, when people aren't staring at you - except the perves who look at anyone in tights.
You come home and wrap the book up, letting your feelings show in the wrapping. You feel neat and tidy, so the wrapping is done with precision, but you also feel quirky, so you taped two different types of paper together. They don't match, and for one you like this. You do your usual with the gift ribbon, curling it with the scissors as always. You take pride in the fact that you wrap just like your mother, making the opening virtually impossible without tearing. It is the ultimate giver of suspense on a birthday. You don't do it because you think the other person will like it. You do it because you like seeing the results of your head and your hands standing in front of you. You like to know that everything you did is because you wanted it to be that way.
You sneak a book into the basket at the shops. It's not really sneaking, though, because your mum knows, and she likes that you read, so she allows it. You've already read the first twenty-three pages of the book and you like the tone of the narration. It sounds real. You also try on a thousand and one bras, not all of them fit right. You've grown right there, so nothing really fits the way it should because you're not the "regular" or "standard" C or D or whatever. That's okay though. You know what you want and you don't stop til you get it. So you leave with three that fit perfectly, and the lacy underwear to match it.
You like wearing underwear like that, because you know you look good in it. You don't do it so that anyone else can see, and if they should see, then you know that you look great, and when they tell you, you simply say I know. It doesn't matter that probably no one will see these new things, the fact of the matter is that they're yours and you like them. You also bought two new dresses. You bought them because you dont have anything like them. They're both completely different. They are like the two different emotions you embody. One blue, one pink. Two totally different styles.
You paint your nails red because you feel like it. You do a pretty crumby job, but you don't care because it made you happy. You put glitter on it afterwards because you felt like it. Then you talk to someone about what you want. They keep interrupting because they think they know you. You try to tell them, without being rude, exactly what you want in someone. You told somebody else what you wanted through a quote, "love is the response to our highest values - and can be nothing else..." You should have used this again, because it hasn't changed. They still wouldn't get it though. They're not going yo be happy that you've written this, because they know who you're talking about. But that's fine, because honesty is the best policy, as they say.
You think about having a shower, then say "fuck it". You've been swaering a lot more recently. You like the crude way the words stand out in a sentance. You think about going to bed too. You feel like washing your hands and you hair. You'll wash the hair in the morning before you figure out what to wear to the party tomorrow.
"I was a revolutionary who lost his ideals to heroin,
a philosopher who lost his integrity in crime
and a poet who lost his soul in a maximum security prison."
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