2005-02-17 - 5:18 p.m.

Okay, time to be real:
I'm tired of being everyone else and letting their words speak for me. Somewhere I go deeper. My soul is starving from lack of food. Screamin, "let me speak, you won't be dissapointed!"

I hate the fake! I hate the people who are trying to be so real that they end up being even more fake than those who pose. Isn't their a place between? A place where our inside can come out, our own little corner of the world where no one makes us pretend we are who we aren't? Even though the thought is cliched, that doesn't render the truth.

She's so fake. I haven't decided what to call her in case she stumbles upon this diary and it opens up a bag on lies. She is fake, she's plastic, the can be broken but not easily and when she is broken or melted down, all is revealed. The hallow, barren, naked inners of a cold and lonely girl who needs to be loved like all of us. Weakness is inclosed. Hiding it makes the secret look more obvious. I think I'm going to call her Ebony. The name means 'dark strength' I guess hiding yorself is a twisted strength, a dark strength. A strength to pretend.

previous - next