If my hair was short, it’d be curly. Did you know that? Course not. What about the fact that I’m a broken, pathetic fool? Nah, you don’t know that either. Probably don’t care much, though that doesn’t explain why your reading this. As you read on, we’ll find out what you feel now won’t we.
I’m the girl that everyone has a problem with. The one with ripped clothing and a sour attitude. They all know my name, yet try and act like they don’t even know I exist. They walk by all cheeky and smug, waggling their asses in those $200 jeans. I’m not completely alone, though. I have a handful of friends, and damn good ones at times. Though sometimes even they don’t understand. They all say they’re here for me, that everything will turn out okay. But when it comes right down to it, they don’t want to hear it. All I hear is ‘shhh, it’s not time for this.’ Or, ‘Okay, okay, calm down.’
That’s just the thing, I can’t calm down. I can’t act like everything’s okay because, honestly, it isn’t. It’s hard to act when my mother doesn’t give a rats a** about me and my father could be in a different country for all I know. Friend’s are fine.. Sometimes. Admit it or not they don’t care all to much. Maybe God wanted me to be alone? Lot’s of people have problems with me, though what I don’t get is why they wont say it out loud. Does it do something for them to keep secret about it and snicker and b***h behind closed doors? It’s the easiest explanation I can think of. Hell hath no boundaries.
SO, here I am, standing in my kitchen, writing this down. Why? Because the only people that will listen are Mr. Pen and Mrs. Paper. Here is where I keep all my thoughts, desires, love’s, losses and over all self. If I can’t write, I’d practically lose myself amongst the scattered thoughts and depression.
My thoughts are always scrambled, so I write them down. Neat, in order, slightly understandable. The things no one will know, which is basically most of my thoughts. No one cares enough to listen, so I write and I write. I write until my head is empty, then I start over again.
At school, I do my work wordlessly, merely existing in the back of the classroom. Speak not nor spoken to. I’m not like the other’s. I want to be an outcast. I don’t want to put up with other people’s s**t. I am Cheyenne, and this is my story. Stick around… If you so wish.
I have so many things to look forward to.. College.. A real future. But there’s one tiny problem that constantly plagues my mind..
I can’t ‘see’ that far… Oh wait, I haven’t explained that yet. All jokes aside, there’s a reason why I don’t fit in. Not my great lack of interest for the social aspect of being a teenager, either. A few friends and I.. we’re.. different.
So I have every right to call you a turd-face if you so much as dare call me a freak. I’m what is described as an Empath. Which is basically a lose term describing someone as being able to feel and read other people’s emotions. I live in a climate of emotions, it’s like air to me. More or less. We come in a wide range of other abilities, such as see the future.. Pick the words out of your brain.. Etc
Imagine that, there isn’t much you could hide from me. So I sit in my little corner, away from everyone. That’s kind of how I met my best friend, Amanda. Long story short, I met her in school. I was off in my own little world, sketching away at a notepad when she comes up behind me.
“Nice art.” She comments, making me jump so hard I drop my pencil.
“Thanks.” I reply quietly, swiping my pencil from the table and setting it back on my sketchbook. She sat down beside me, and has been there ever since. Through all the millions of jokes, thousands of smiles, and an eternity of good times.
We talk as much as possible, and no matter what there’s always something to talk about. ‘So says the girl with the purple hair’. she’d quote if I’d say something stupid or outlandish. We’d go to each other’s house to rescue one another from the hell of home life. Though, one day that all changed..
“Yin’s here!” Amanda chirped as Yin stepped out of her mother’s BMW. I sighed hard, closing my notebook and shoving it into my bag.
“Oh joys.” I whispered, putting on the best’ everything is.. Not ok’ face. When Yin reached us, I looked away, a scowl playing it’s way around my facial features.
“Okay! Everyone, I’m on a bad mood and anyone acting negative around me will get slapped.” She announced, her tone just begging for an a** beating.
“Well, s**t. Then I might as well walk away right now.” I said in a low voice, gripping the strap of my backpack. She slammed her fists down on her binder, and my eyes flashed.
“CHY! I heard that!” She snarled, a pathetic attempt to feel like she had a chance if this turned into an argument.
“Did I whisper?” I shot back, shoving myself up from the ground and throwing my backpack over my shoulder. My eyes narrowed, hating having to put up with her.
Things have been boiling up between her and I for awhile now. Lately she’s hit my anger trigger dead on, and nonstop. I glanced down at Amanda, who was about to stuck her foot in between us. Before she had a chance to speak I said, “Follow if you will. Your choice.” I strode off into the crowd.
I walked down to the front of the school, my face locked in a grimace kind of glare. Other people’s thoughts bounced around in my skull, making my ears ring with the sound of ignorance. My own thoughts were so scramble din the mix I could barely keep up with them. I hate how she thinks she’s in charge, I hissed internally. I felt Amanda walk up behind me, and her hand squeezing my shoulder lightly. I sighed, knowing she was about to start..
“What was that about?” She questioned, her eyes probing. I sighed again, hearing the bell echo off the farther buildings. Saved by the bell. Anger swelled and twisted in my gut, heating my cheeks and pumping adrenalin through my veins.
At the top of the steps, I spun around on my heels and faced Amanda. “Choose.” I said, my voice steely. My eyes only echoed the pain and anger I was feeling, and nothing more.
“What?” She said, knowing full well what I meant without having to ask. I swallowed, hating to have to do this.
“Choose.” I repeated, turning around and shifting my backpack. I walked the few extra feet to my first hour in silence. My eyes burned as I took my seat, the hum of voices drowning out the whispers of my words to her. From then on, the rest of the day passed in a numb-like blur. That night I called her.
“I’m sorry I have to make you choose, Mandarin. But I can’t take it any longer.” I whispered, glancing around the street. Being outside was more private then in the house, but still.
“I understand.” Amanda replied, her voice sad with the weight of the situation.
“I’m sorry.” I repeated, “If you want, you go with her. I’m not going to guilt trip you into staying my friend. It’s your choice after all, and I wont interfere with that.” I finished, feeling the swell of pain at the thought of losing her.
“No. Don’t say that,” She paused, “ I-I just don’t know. I’ll have to think about it.” She said, I could hear the tears by the sound of her voice.
“Alright.” I said, as an automatic response, not wanting to make this harder.
“I need the phone!” My mother howled from the front door, and I sighed.
“I’ve got to go,” I said, sighing. “I’ll.. See you Monday.” My voice rang into the receiver, flat and lifeless.
“Bye.” she whispered, the line going dead. I sighed, stepping onto the ramp that led to the door and handed my mother the phone.
That was about a good three or four weeks ago. Now, I sit with them, everyone laughing and having a good time. My own words sting my throat like fire licking new wounds. Heaven, I still talk to, for the gang’s sake.
My smile are fake and my laugh is forced. I hide my feelings and put on an act, trying to go about life. When nothing’s wrong everyone feels the need to ask of something is, though when something is actually going bad they turn a blind eye. I guess it’s just a day in the life..
I have to hide everything. From thoughts to feelings, like crushes.. Not that I have many.
I’m the girl that everyone has a problem with. The one with ripped clothing and a sour attitude. They all know my name, yet try and act like they don’t even know I exist. They walk by all cheeky and smug, waggling their asses in those $200 jeans. I’m not completely alone, though. I have a handful of friends, and damn good ones at times. Though sometimes even they don’t understand. They all say they’re here for me, that everything will turn out okay. But when it comes right down to it, they don’t want to hear it. All I hear is ‘shhh, it’s not time for this.’ Or, ‘Okay, okay, calm down.’
That’s just the thing, I can’t calm down. I can’t act like everything’s okay because, honestly, it isn’t. It’s hard to act when my mother doesn’t give a rats a** about me and my father could be in a different country for all I know. Friend’s are fine.. Sometimes. Admit it or not they don’t care all to much. Maybe God wanted me to be alone? Lot’s of people have problems with me, though what I don’t get is why they wont say it out loud. Does it do something for them to keep secret about it and snicker and b***h behind closed doors? It’s the easiest explanation I can think of. Hell hath no boundaries.
SO, here I am, standing in my kitchen, writing this down. Why? Because the only people that will listen are Mr. Pen and Mrs. Paper. Here is where I keep all my thoughts, desires, love’s, losses and over all self. If I can’t write, I’d practically lose myself amongst the scattered thoughts and depression.
My thoughts are always scrambled, so I write them down. Neat, in order, slightly understandable. The things no one will know, which is basically most of my thoughts. No one cares enough to listen, so I write and I write. I write until my head is empty, then I start over again.
At school, I do my work wordlessly, merely existing in the back of the classroom. Speak not nor spoken to. I’m not like the other’s. I want to be an outcast. I don’t want to put up with other people’s s**t. I am Cheyenne, and this is my story. Stick around… If you so wish.
I have so many things to look forward to.. College.. A real future. But there’s one tiny problem that constantly plagues my mind..
I can’t ‘see’ that far… Oh wait, I haven’t explained that yet. All jokes aside, there’s a reason why I don’t fit in. Not my great lack of interest for the social aspect of being a teenager, either. A few friends and I.. we’re.. different.
So I have every right to call you a turd-face if you so much as dare call me a freak. I’m what is described as an Empath. Which is basically a lose term describing someone as being able to feel and read other people’s emotions. I live in a climate of emotions, it’s like air to me. More or less. We come in a wide range of other abilities, such as see the future.. Pick the words out of your brain.. Etc
Imagine that, there isn’t much you could hide from me. So I sit in my little corner, away from everyone. That’s kind of how I met my best friend, Amanda. Long story short, I met her in school. I was off in my own little world, sketching away at a notepad when she comes up behind me.
“Nice art.” She comments, making me jump so hard I drop my pencil.
“Thanks.” I reply quietly, swiping my pencil from the table and setting it back on my sketchbook. She sat down beside me, and has been there ever since. Through all the millions of jokes, thousands of smiles, and an eternity of good times.
We talk as much as possible, and no matter what there’s always something to talk about. ‘So says the girl with the purple hair’. she’d quote if I’d say something stupid or outlandish. We’d go to each other’s house to rescue one another from the hell of home life. Though, one day that all changed..
“Yin’s here!” Amanda chirped as Yin stepped out of her mother’s BMW. I sighed hard, closing my notebook and shoving it into my bag.
“Oh joys.” I whispered, putting on the best’ everything is.. Not ok’ face. When Yin reached us, I looked away, a scowl playing it’s way around my facial features.
“Okay! Everyone, I’m on a bad mood and anyone acting negative around me will get slapped.” She announced, her tone just begging for an a** beating.
“Well, s**t. Then I might as well walk away right now.” I said in a low voice, gripping the strap of my backpack. She slammed her fists down on her binder, and my eyes flashed.
“CHY! I heard that!” She snarled, a pathetic attempt to feel like she had a chance if this turned into an argument.
“Did I whisper?” I shot back, shoving myself up from the ground and throwing my backpack over my shoulder. My eyes narrowed, hating having to put up with her.
Things have been boiling up between her and I for awhile now. Lately she’s hit my anger trigger dead on, and nonstop. I glanced down at Amanda, who was about to stuck her foot in between us. Before she had a chance to speak I said, “Follow if you will. Your choice.” I strode off into the crowd.
I walked down to the front of the school, my face locked in a grimace kind of glare. Other people’s thoughts bounced around in my skull, making my ears ring with the sound of ignorance. My own thoughts were so scramble din the mix I could barely keep up with them. I hate how she thinks she’s in charge, I hissed internally. I felt Amanda walk up behind me, and her hand squeezing my shoulder lightly. I sighed, knowing she was about to start..
“What was that about?” She questioned, her eyes probing. I sighed again, hearing the bell echo off the farther buildings. Saved by the bell. Anger swelled and twisted in my gut, heating my cheeks and pumping adrenalin through my veins.
At the top of the steps, I spun around on my heels and faced Amanda. “Choose.” I said, my voice steely. My eyes only echoed the pain and anger I was feeling, and nothing more.
“What?” She said, knowing full well what I meant without having to ask. I swallowed, hating to have to do this.
“Choose.” I repeated, turning around and shifting my backpack. I walked the few extra feet to my first hour in silence. My eyes burned as I took my seat, the hum of voices drowning out the whispers of my words to her. From then on, the rest of the day passed in a numb-like blur. That night I called her.
“I’m sorry I have to make you choose, Mandarin. But I can’t take it any longer.” I whispered, glancing around the street. Being outside was more private then in the house, but still.
“I understand.” Amanda replied, her voice sad with the weight of the situation.
“I’m sorry.” I repeated, “If you want, you go with her. I’m not going to guilt trip you into staying my friend. It’s your choice after all, and I wont interfere with that.” I finished, feeling the swell of pain at the thought of losing her.
“No. Don’t say that,” She paused, “ I-I just don’t know. I’ll have to think about it.” She said, I could hear the tears by the sound of her voice.
“Alright.” I said, as an automatic response, not wanting to make this harder.
“I need the phone!” My mother howled from the front door, and I sighed.
“I’ve got to go,” I said, sighing. “I’ll.. See you Monday.” My voice rang into the receiver, flat and lifeless.
“Bye.” she whispered, the line going dead. I sighed, stepping onto the ramp that led to the door and handed my mother the phone.
That was about a good three or four weeks ago. Now, I sit with them, everyone laughing and having a good time. My own words sting my throat like fire licking new wounds. Heaven, I still talk to, for the gang’s sake.
My smile are fake and my laugh is forced. I hide my feelings and put on an act, trying to go about life. When nothing’s wrong everyone feels the need to ask of something is, though when something is actually going bad they turn a blind eye. I guess it’s just a day in the life..
I have to hide everything. From thoughts to feelings, like crushes.. Not that I have many.
