Grey

I look outside, and things are just gray. Even when they aren’t. I
hold back tears on the subway, on my way to work. Late again because I
couldn’t get myself up. I used to be so punctual. I used to be
so…no, happy would be a lie. I can’t really recall happy, not
consistently. There’s this video of me, at a party, I was 5. I was
dancing around, I looked happy there. But I can’t remember if I
actually was. I remember feeling weird. Or jaded. Cynical, like a
smartass. I remember having hope, and uniformly being punished for it.
Like some sort of cosmic joke. And I believe god exists, but I look at
the news, and I think he must be kind of a sadist. Yeah, there’s good
there, but it seems to be outnumbered by bad 10-1. Never mind my life.
I have flaws, tons, but even when I hate myself, I know I don’t
deserve the straw I drew. Especially since said straw also had the
lucky break of making me utterly incapable of fixing it. Whether or
not to give up hinges largely on my mood. And, I’m not color blind. I
know my phillies ice cream cup is red, my tissue box green, my
pay-stubs blue, my merlion tan. But, it’s still all fundamentally gray.
And I don’t want it to be. But, I have no clue how to change it, I’m
not that good an artist.

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About boredgirl260

27 year old trying to figure things out as she goes.
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