"Pure White Lace is enough to cut through, exposing what's beneath..."

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Who I am.
It seems like everything likes to fall apart. Like it’s almost a whisper waiting to be overtaken by a loud screech… It’s odd. Sitting here with people I consider family, thinking about how things could be better. I have good clothes, a nice house, food (sometimes) to eat. And yet I can sit here and complain when I’m surrounded by “love”. I miss being young. I miss sitting in class, color. The biggest challenge you had was to find someone to play with.

Now you have betrayals, lies, pain, tears, broken hearts. It’s hard to believe we evolve into this people that are so odd. We feed off of pain, lust, and the satisfaction that someone has less than you. Shouldn’t we thrive on the happiness of everyone? Shouldn’t we try and have people be happy, and not attempting to end their lives because of what we feed off of?

People see images, not words, or what’s behind the mirror. All we see is the pain that’s etched into our character. Why do I find it enjoyable when people hurt? Why do I think it’s okay for people to be let down? Why do I lie, to make myself seem who I am not. I am not this person. I am not the girl who would sit and think it be okay to write this all down. It’s not me.

I’m also not that kid that stays on the outskirts of the group. I’m not the kid who is suicidal every other day, and I’m not the kid who believes hurting yourself  is the answer. Then why do I do it? Why do I portray myself as the emo kid? Why can’t I just be Bella, the girl who writes more than she breathes, who loves to draw, who loves to laugh and smile, who gets goo-goo for romance? Why can’t I be who I am? Is it because I love the feeling of acceptance? Then again, why should I be accepted for someone I’m not? I mean, there’s bound to be other people who are what I see to be, so why can’t I show myself?

My friends accept me. The people who I love. The people who sit with me when I cry, the ones that talk me out of stupid shit, the one’s that I laugh with, the one’s I trust. Shouldn’t that be enough to satisfy my craving for acceptance? Who am I, who am I to fake myself when I have people here for me? Why am I like this? Why is everyone like this?

Why can’t we be accepted for who we are?


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