A Nightingale In A Golden Cage

Here's attempt #2. I wish this came easier. Merlin, seriously? FML. Why does all my stuff have to be so frakking morbid? Geez, I already know my poetry sucks. Why don't you just rub it in? It's not like I don't already feel like shit today. It's harder than it looks to pretend you're happy and cheery and feeling well. Because, really, I'm none of those. I feel like I could vomit at any moment. I'm in one of my low periods.

And I don't have a "Fitz" or a "Leslie" to talk to. The one person I'd consider? Not available to talk to about that sort of stuff. I went to his office hours yesterday and at one point he said, "Talk to me." And I said what I usually say to Fitz when that statement comes up: "What do you want me to say?" And he said, "You seem so sad."

That was my chance. I could've just said it all right there. "Yes, sir. I am sad. Because there are things in my life that I can't deal with. Because the people I put my trust and confidence in are no longer here to help me. Because I have no one to talk to about the crap that happens in my life. Yes, sir, I am very sad."

But, no. What did I do? I let my brain take over, let it lie for me again. And I said, "Well...it's a big paper." Was it a blatant lie? No. Not really. I mean, it is a big paper. It's worth 30% of the grade. But it wasn't the biggest thing that was making me "sad" at that moment. And why did I shield the truth from him? I have a few answers prepared for this question.

1) He teaches english in a college setting. He has tons of students. My problems are the last things he has time for.
2) He probably doesn't want to know.
3) He probably doesn't want to deal.
4) He probably would be weirded out. Like many are.

I can't think of anymore, but I'm sure there are several more out there.

And the number one reason I'm afraid to hand in my poetry? Because I know if he reads it, he'll see what I'm saying and will do one or all of the following:

1) Tell me it's rubbish. Because it probably is.
2) Think I'm just another teen angst writer.
3) Think poorly of me.

I like none of those options. And I'm not just another teen angst writer. Most teen angst writers are going through normal problems that most teenagers go through. I like to consider myself a young adult with abnormal problems. I mean, come on, your average college freshman doesn't have two clinically depressed parents (one with anger management issues and the other with OCD) or a brother who tries to remain detached from life at home. To add to that, I'm clinically depressed myself. Not as bad as my parents, for sure. But I have major swings. I'll be on a high for an amount of time, and then I'll be on a low for an amount of time. I try to control it because if I can't control what happens at home, then I sure as hell try to control myself. But it comes back to that bit of truth that slaps me in the face every time: I can't control it.

Wow. That was a tangent. Anywho. Attempt #2. For the second time. I feel pathetic now. Ew. I don't like this one very much. Hell, I don't like any of them very much. They're too whiny and personal. LGUJKLASJLAKSJdl .()@*%(#

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Even though I've left them behind
I will see my secret friends
And they are ever on my mind

And together they're oh-so-kind
With low tide they make amends
For devoured Fruit in time behind

Evidence of their Hate is lined
Rich with rubies from where they rend
But I cannot push them from my mind

When seasons change, then shall I find
Them waiting. And back I'll send
To repair what I've left behind

The offending limbs they have signed
Glinting, shining as they tend
Their poison spreads throughout my mind

My friends would surely have declined
Requests for our friendship to end
Forbidden to leave them behind
They are - forever - on my Mind