Sometimes I wish I could be more then what I feel I am. There is this emptiness aching to be filled, an intense loneliness that eats me alive. It feels as if chunks of me are missing in time, pieces I can never get back. A never ending feeling of being nothing more then an object, a toy. One that just gets put on a shelf when they are bored of playing and they move on to the next best thing. Have I ever been real? I learned at a young age how to make people feel special, how to make them see what they want to see. How to throw my feelings aside, lock them up and play the game. I am not allowed to have emotions, I am not allowed to feel pain or make a fuss when people try to take advantage of me. It always hurts someone and that isn't a right that I have been given. There is a part of myself that I keep locked up; sometimes I wonder if I let that aspect be the main aspect, if life would then be easier. There is a part of me that feels nothing, she doesn't care what people do because she knows what she is. Everyone knows what she is, they give her attention. They want to play with her, fuck her, get their fill and disappear. Maybe then the hate thrown at me would be warranted. She doesn't eat or cry, she doesn't hurt or love. She just is what she is. Beauty is all that matters, her own dark beauty is captivating. Men love her, women hate her but she doesn't care. She takes what she needs; she knows how to be the winner at the game. She comes in like a tornado in the dead of night and is gone just as fast. People are left wondering if she was real or just an illusion. Then there is the me that feels far too much, cries, loves, laughs and hurts beyond anything that most people can imagine. There is a mind begging to be fed, to be heard, to be wanted. I have an intensity that scares people, so it is safer if I don't let them close. No drama, just hide myself away until the dead of night, like a bat. Silently sneaking out to spend some time with the creatures that quietly bathe in the moonlight. Invisible to the naked eye, untouched but severely damaged. Trying to heal her is like trying to drive a big rig through the eye of a needle. What good is it to be yourself when that isn't what anyone really wants? They want a slut, a bitch, an innocent. Someone they believe they can control. I can play the games but I know what it does to the me that hides behind the walls of her secret garden. Maybe killing her off isn't the worse thing that can happen. Maybe forgetting all that I am is what is best? No one can betray someone who they think doesn't feel. They can't use someone who is using them. You can't play games with a mind you can't find. Can I be like my father? Can I become that cold? Can I become her again? 11 years she has been hidden, 11 years of trying to make peace with the past while others screw with my future. The never ending quest for perfection, does it leave me a courtesan, a whore? Does it matter anymore? Funny, you look so long for love and acceptance. Then one day you wake up and realize you were looking for something you can never really find. A person who has never been loved doesn't know what it feels like to be loved; just like a person who has never been accepted can't know what it feels like to be accepted. When you have learned to trust no one, only your instincts you should take notice. Maybe that is what kept me alive so long? Once I thought I had a right to be myself, be what I wanted to be; that is when the trouble came. Things to think about at least. Pain and hopelessness are the arms that hold me tight when the world throws me away.

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