Growing Up
I never cry --
Or never used to --
But lately, I just want to curl up in a ball and cry my red-rimmed, bloodshot eyes out.
I feel like collapsing,
Giving in to that weakness in my shaking knees,
Just falling and never getting up again.
Diving down to the depths of the ocean and never resurfacing,
Because, let's face it, it's a hell of a lot scarier up here,
Where I never seem to know what the world is going to throw my way next.
Smile to keep from crying.
I can't let on that they are getting to me.
Is it just me, or are the voices getting louder?
What does it really matter?
They will all see me in a different light anyway, won't they?
Isn't it an awful feeling, to be unable to be seen for who you really are?
I feel that way everyday.
Someone, somewhere once told me that it's all in the molding, what we will become.
But I refuse to blame those that created me for all the things I've done wrong.
I really used to think that everything I truly needed, would come in due time, all in moderation.
I believed them when they told me 'Time is meaningless. You have all the time in the world.'
Turns out, they lied. Timing is everything, and time has run out.
True, we may stop, stall, but the world still moves on, revolves.
People come and take their leave, but day and night never cease.
Still, I sat there, listening to everything they could possibly have to say,
Even though I'd already heard their useless half-truths a thousand times before.
It seems there are always more lies to tell.
If you are going to try to comfort me, please, I beg of you, comfort me with the truth.
Not that my response will be any different.
'Thanks but I can take care of myself.'
The last thing I need is you thinking I need saving.
The worn souls of my shoes should be enough proof of the trials I have been through, the tribulations I have overcome.
Still, I find there is this hungry, growing need deep inside my soul to experience more of this 'life.'
And all of these ideas that they told me to keep quiet are building up inside, festering away, and aching to finally break out.
It seems I am always upsetting the scheme of things.
Forgot to play my part,
Never even learned the lines to speak for this role.
All I'm really doing, is struggeling to remain innocent, pure.
Uselessly grasping at childhood,
All the while, letting loose, falling down, and growing up.
Or never used to --
But lately, I just want to curl up in a ball and cry my red-rimmed, bloodshot eyes out.
I feel like collapsing,
Giving in to that weakness in my shaking knees,
Just falling and never getting up again.
Diving down to the depths of the ocean and never resurfacing,
Because, let's face it, it's a hell of a lot scarier up here,
Where I never seem to know what the world is going to throw my way next.
Smile to keep from crying.
I can't let on that they are getting to me.
Is it just me, or are the voices getting louder?
What does it really matter?
They will all see me in a different light anyway, won't they?
Isn't it an awful feeling, to be unable to be seen for who you really are?
I feel that way everyday.
Someone, somewhere once told me that it's all in the molding, what we will become.
But I refuse to blame those that created me for all the things I've done wrong.
I really used to think that everything I truly needed, would come in due time, all in moderation.
I believed them when they told me 'Time is meaningless. You have all the time in the world.'
Turns out, they lied. Timing is everything, and time has run out.
True, we may stop, stall, but the world still moves on, revolves.
People come and take their leave, but day and night never cease.
Still, I sat there, listening to everything they could possibly have to say,
Even though I'd already heard their useless half-truths a thousand times before.
It seems there are always more lies to tell.
If you are going to try to comfort me, please, I beg of you, comfort me with the truth.
Not that my response will be any different.
'Thanks but I can take care of myself.'
The last thing I need is you thinking I need saving.
The worn souls of my shoes should be enough proof of the trials I have been through, the tribulations I have overcome.
Still, I find there is this hungry, growing need deep inside my soul to experience more of this 'life.'
And all of these ideas that they told me to keep quiet are building up inside, festering away, and aching to finally break out.
It seems I am always upsetting the scheme of things.
Forgot to play my part,
Never even learned the lines to speak for this role.
All I'm really doing, is struggeling to remain innocent, pure.
Uselessly grasping at childhood,
All the while, letting loose, falling down, and growing up.