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ironicgirl 
6:45pm, September 30, 2009
He wears his smile under the pain of years squandered on the uses of drugs, and illicit ways trying to find himself. On this bus to the next couple of stops I wonder what led him this way. With a blue plastic tube around his neck, with a special way of smoking his cigarettes. His mystique and sadness brings me wonder and understanding. He laughs about some random thing, with his blue coveralls wearing dirtied socks and no shoes, says he doesn't need them. He's probably around my age, and he flirts a bit with me, and then gathers himself the understanding to me that he's a chemist. And by his brokenness I know the drugs messed him up as I notice that he often confuses the information he just told me. His eyes look sad despite his smile, and I wonder what can fix him and if someday he might just end up lost or dead on some strange street with strangers that care nothing about him. The gothic teens across from me, don't smile, and their sad perspective of life and living is expressed in a rather ironic way. They hang onto themselves as if their love is the only real thing is this world, and the guy sitting next to me is some niave pompous type, as they bitterly roll their eyes at him, as jocks have done to them.
What's possible and what's my lack of innitiative? And yet my soul is as bitter and empty as the next person willing to call themselves a victim. A cut or scar would never bother, and yet I have nothing to prove to anyone. I can't see myself in the future, and as the years pass by, I glance at those I knew and see the immovable me. So stuck and plastered to 2004. I wish I would have been okay but I'm not and I've understood what little time does change. Can anyone tell me how to mend the wounds that tear at me at night, with tears falling on my pillow, as I glance up to wake up? How do you forgive those that have wounded your soul and your body? How do you move on and stay whole when you can't concentrate enough to try? I have no motivation, and I am willing to admit that I'm lost. I might not cut anymore, I might not huff anymore, but I'm still not okay. I don't cry in group as often as others, don't have nervous breakdowns, but inside the child is still broken.
He took me to the laundry room and hurt me,
a small child of only seven,
he touched and violated me,
was 1993,
and for years it happened, and every time I died a little,
and so there's no fix to this past,
no bandage for the wound,
just masking tape,
and it holds up well,
until you realize that you have a broken leg,
not a minor cut,
and as it bloodies, as you get older,
the smile on your face becomes a frown,
the passerbys just glance and walk away,
trust is a face I've never known,
to be hurt and abandoned I've known,
to be rejected, to be denied, to be seen as less I've understood my part,
if I would have been gone or taken that year,
would have been better than having to suffer for the years that came,
to later have been hurt again by a total stranger as in adult,
to never find myself,
when will this be over?
when will i be okay?
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He gives me his time though I'm not worth any of it, and if he could tell that I was beyound help he too would understand this dillema. He sits beyound me smoking his cigarettes, in the nicotine stained room, the sound of a cheap fair also the colour of nicotine leaves me heaving for some clean air. These plastic chairs in front of me that are worn with time, make it seem like the comany I work for is severely poor, ironically the president of this company recently got a bonus of 28 million. I've been here long enough to know that you are replacable, and any one who says different, is either bought up, or completely in denial. I've stopped thinking about him, though he is right in front of me, perhaps I'm not as in love with him as he thinks. All I'm thinking about is how Caylee recently got fired, how she has worked for the company for about the same time as I have about six years. She got carpal tunnel on both her wrist, and they knew about it, they just gave her wrist gards, repetitive motion does that to you. Another employee hurt his back and he hasn't been back since a recent accident. Another person says how we are lucky to even have jobs right now, but how she can never fully plan to go to the doctor's or even spend time with her kids because the computer generates her hours. Most people are working part time hours when they were hired as full timers, but no one complains because they are scared of losing their jobs. Not many around here can pay anything else on their meager paychecks, except for bills. I have not much to ponder over except that he that sits before me is also on a list of people they are trying to fire. I want to say something but at the same time I don't want him to worry about something that still hasn't happened yet. I reflect at his countenance, the grim reality of the sadness that surronds so many of us in here. We give them our all and they can only give us a raise of sixty cents a year, what happened to all the things that mattered that have been taken away? Corporations rule us and we end up being the peons or the endentured servents, their open 24 hours a day at some location, we might have to end up living there in the meager break rooms or sleep in the gyms like someone I knew that worked their did.
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