Tori’s Writing Hole

This is Me

That little angel never appeared
Just a geek in hornrimmed glasses
Hidden behind a thick novel, frowning
Dissecting sentences and adjectives

Never was a beauty girl, wore jeans
Torn t-shirts with band names
Broke out face, mind broke out
Scared the boys and still do

I wanted to be a pretty girl
Wanted love and admirers
Never made it to an angel
Never made it to the devil

Hands click on keys, hold a pen
Pour thoughts on black and white
Just waiting for that moment, the time
When I will stop waiting for praise.

—
I posted this elsewhere, for those who know (secret society handshake). I’ve been thinking about the past because of Myspace, for all stupid reasons. Stephen started looking up people he knew in high school (remembering the good more than the bad) so I did the same. Everyone has changed so much, which is obvious. I think the most amazing thing is that I still have the same fears about these people that I did 10 years ago. Will they reject me if I “add” them? Will they look at the pics of me and family and go, yep, she’s fat just like we thought?

I wonder how long it takes to stop doubting yourself and start loving yourself. Self esteem, phthththt. Like I’ve ever had that. Even at my prettiest and thinnest (yes, I know, judging the book by the cover and all that) I didn’t feel worth a poop. Today, I feel worth more, but not enough. Hell, I can’t decide on anything. One minute I’m a writer and the next I feel like I should be more than that… should be saving lives and kicking ass.

I wish I could get out of this loop and learn that everyone feels this way (to an extent) but I can’t. Death rears its ugly head in my family, and I feel impermanent… like I’ve got to leave something to society. My mom says my mark is made by my daughter, but I want to leave my own. Perhaps I’ve just got to keep writing…