I’ve been reluctant, but it’s only been an act, to get back into modeling before I really am too old. I waited for boys to become men, when they were waiting for me to get out of their faces and back on task… Modeling really is my thing, and I’m a bottle rocket at it. I have o accept that fact, but I don’t have to sell out.
Do I believe in fate? If I did, I’d keep trying to kill myself with a swift death, because I feel like I’m going to die sooner than I think. If I did, there’s no pointing moving to Alabama for school this winter. If I did, there’d been no point in getting married outside the obvious reasons to leave. The realities of my life are terribly depressing. Knowing my heritage is depressing and that I’m not meant to stride farther than my parents, life has no worth. Knowing that I’m not meant for greatness reflects a lack of worth, value for life. Why am I here taking up oxygen? The cycle is continuing. I haven’t ever found reason to celebrate my birthday; I’ve always noticed my living is just a waste of death. My living is a waste of hate. It’s a waste of loving. It’s a waste of needing and caring. No one can keep me alive if it’s in the cards for me to die young. There’s no point of me ever experiencing a cruise, because I’ll “die in water”. There’s no need to have this yearning for travel. I need to accept him at my door and welcome him in. I need to tell death that he’s always been my friend. Thank you, Daddy, for birthing the child that was supposed to die. Thank you, Daddy, for confirming my lack of self worth and esteem. The one thing men always noticed I lacked was a true dream. All them, all my “friends”, they’re sick for gravitating toward death. If you’ve loved me in your life, it’s because you wanted to die. If you needed me to stick around in life, shame is placed on you for not realizing your worth is greater than mine. What is the point of keeping me alive?! I see the world in black, still searching for the white. If I stay with my husband, at least I’ll have known a simple, boring life. You must want to die too. You must crave to say that you were widowed, because I won’t live past 25. If I do, it’ll be news to me. Why? Why did my parents let this beast of a she live?! I didn’t have to be here! It hurts to know my heart is of gold, but my soul is bound for hell. It doesn’t make life worth it to know someone else died and bled. For a person to be lost in a sea of souls forever? Why? For this skin to return to dust? That’s so useless. My interests, my intrigues are against the verybbeing I’m told to Love. Why? What is there to accomplish if I won’t live long enough to take the first steps?! I have not had goals. I was asked what I wanted to do when I was 4, I couldn’t see past high school, but I saw ghosts and death walk through my home.. ..watching as I slept. Sitting beside my great grandmother. It used to creep into my room at night… ..watching me. It had so many chances to take me, so WHY have you not claimed me for your own and stricken my misery from the records?!