literature

A Tendency

Deviation Actions

Published: Jan 8, 2015

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Literature Text

I'm supposed to be doing something else. I'm supposed to be wasting away on my drafting table, doing my final plates.
I'm an interior design student, you see. And I'm supposed to be spending my time now working to some day work for you,
To some day build your house, your daughter's room, your boss's new office space;
But I come across a video I wasn't supposed to.
I spend my five minute brain break for forty minutes and I'm regretting it now, I swear I am,
But words are strong little things and they could creep into you even though
You don't want them to.
And they gnaw at me now, they're itchy and irritating and they tell me to write.
Just... write.

Write.

I am seventeen, a small, short-haired kid with
Acne and marks all over my body,
I am not perfect, as you can tell,
I sing in the shower and dance without inhibitions (sometimes),
In my dreams I am someone else,
A spy during the Cold War with blonde hair and a Russian accent,
A ninja assassin in the land of the Leaf, with fine weapons and no mercy,
Or a typical popular teenager with problems greater than everyone else--but no one believes;
In reality I claw everyday, trying to make myself believable because
No one looks at you just at your surface, just at your skin,
They'll look at you once and then look at your soul another time
They'll look at you once and then look at your mistakes the next time,
Your failures tomorrow, your curse words the day after,
Your principles the next week, your life goals the next month,
They won't look at you anymore.
And I try to make myself believable by putting on false beliefs and
Saying nice words, smiling through painful experiences and
Cutting through water;
I try to make myself believable by harming myself and
Hurting others, but that's just the surface, because I tend to hold back too.
And I'd rather leave you something to think of than bare everything now.

These little voices have died and I am yet again in the morning,
Just myself in my hollow shell,
I am imperfect still and I have failed to make you believe,
I understand that I am too young to know what makes a person
A person,
But I understand that I am not too young to know that I am a person
A person--
And while I am studying to become an interior designer, or whoever I will be
I will write and no one can stop me, I swear no one will,
Not my father, not my mother, not the skies or the rain or the sun,
Not politics or pop-culture, not society or a possible boy with the need to change someone,
I will write and I won't let go of this truth,
Because as much as I fail now, I know it to be true,
Not once have my words failed me and they are the truest thing I've ever known, ever seen,
They're the most I believe in.

More than faith, more than god,
More than love, more than man,
I believe in my words.