Island of Misfit Girl.

People are aware of the things that show up 

clear in their eyes. 

But not everyone is that same way.

I poured my heart out to you, 

thinking that this would make you aware.

Aware that I'm worthy of affection, attention, or 

at the least, acknowledgement.

The people whom we put our strongest faith in,

never seem to know that that faith exists.

I'm tired of people seeing the person that I see in the mirror.

They see a silent girl.

Yet they don't look close enough to see

the small stitches woven into my lips.

Or the tiny whimper coming from my eyes that screams out "help". 

The essence of loneliness is death.

Human biengs are naturally social creatures.

We rely on each other to feel emotion.

If only I could make someone, anyone aware of my existence.

To see even the silent words from my mind,

where my soul goes to rage. 

Instead, like many people,

I leave myself isolated.

Surounded by miles of ocean and

the pressure keeping the land afloat. 

For otherwise, I would find myself at the bottom of a dark abyss

of the water mass that we call beautiful and sea creatures call their home. 

But their home is an endless place to emerse themselves into.

I am a lone sector of land amidst the endless flow.

Being your own home is an exhausting feeling.

One could almost call it self-reliant. 

Like being one of those twenty-somethings ready to leave their parents.

So excited, all of that unused energy and potential. 

It's sad that at so young,

anyone can feel so thirty-something. 

By then, you know that you can't exactly go back,

but being you're own everything is

more freedom and isolation than anyone could ask for. 

For someone to be curious about you is a rare nicety.

No one cares about the hole-in-the wall strip of land that

no prospective tourist would orb off to.

The island with the most care wins. 

But from where I stand, I see more and more of the islands just like me. 

People who have that deficit of the things that keep them alive.

The feelings that give them the rosiness in their cheeks.

The love that gives them laughter. 

The will that takes their oxygen into their lungs.

And finally, the knowledge that the emotions are reciprocated 

that gives them a strong pulse. 

These are things that I know that I don't have.. 

And it hurts that I can't have them.

No matter how much makeup you put over scars,

they'll always be there. 

No matter how hard you hit the bulding, 

it eventually goes into the air that we breathe. 

I'd love to close up some of this water 

if it hadn't drowned me already.

Human Dignity + Compassion = Peace.