The Epitomes

I didn't know that I was being bullied until I had moved back home from the city; I've made myself a place in my mind where I could escape and leave the memories of the past. The rumbling sound of the train reminded me to wake up and know where to put myself every day I rode the train. The seats stuck to the side of the train for dear life, like they too could fall off if the bridges that held up the train on my way to the city again. I tried staying at home where I could've possibly renew the soil of my heritage where my roots stay. The smell in the east, the wind and way the sun hits differently here. It's like the nature read your actions and are giving you the answers here. An answer as to why I never seemed to fit in.

I got up in the morning and fed my kitten. I then showered and mindlessly get ready to leave my house again. It's become a habit, and I don't think twice about where I'm going to eat out today. The rumors, the allegations and the weight on my shoulders tell me I'm simply too old to forget what made me happy. What makes me upset and that was being in the same place I let them hurt me, I tell myself as the door closed behind me. The wind tried hard to make its way up my nose and mouth, as hard as it could as my hair flailed around in the sky like flying noodles. I can't wait to get to the train.

The bunker was lined with red seats, red, like the Budda charm swinging off my walkman. I was listening to Vampire Weekend and acting like it wasn't bothering me that I didn't have friends. They all gre out of me, out of my numbness and became fulfilled individuals with something to be proud of. Something that I really loved to do is sing in my past life, and I never got to sing to them. So I know what to say when I say I want to sing to somebody. To change with somebody; I change everyday. So as I sit in the same seat on the train, why can't somebody sit with me, I think. Am I naturally meant to push people away because of my nick name? Because I lied about cutting myself so I got along with damaged people? Or faked a relationship to avoid somebody falling in love with me, only for it to be revealed years later and bite me in the ass?

I think on the train. I thought about the guilt, the irony behind actually wanting to hurt myself lately and not knowing where to put that pain. I did it for my mental health; I couldn't be around with somebody who didn't know where to put their emotions. I wasn't there for me, or didn't want to explain where their empathy went. Words cut deeper than knives, so whatever my friend used to say I listened. And they never said anything nice, and would remind me of their rape. Like putting a glass of wine infront of a recovering alcoholic. It felt like events you had to go through to know about. So I would be surrounded with the epitome of bad energy in my mind all the time. I took it and ran to the city, failing at knowing what to do with it.

I go red, and anything that gets in my way catches me like a virus. NAbs. Like I got the name to run with it.