I want this to mean something.


I want you to know how I'm feeling. This kamikaze of something far back in the metal workings of a mechanical mind (now mechanical since my emotion ran dry.) I want myself to acknowledge that I am not mad at you, but mad at myself for not being the wild, exciting, life that I could've been - could be, right now. But what would that entail? Simply put I crave attention but am too shy to get it in any other way than being studious and putting my best foot forward so that those who admire me will admire me for my intelligence (or attempts at intelligence), and my willingness to complete tasks and projects in an above and beyond manner.

My main function in life is to be good at what I do and be praised for it. However, something is ticking in the back of my brain and the clockwork is shifting. I hope that the gears get stuck. I hope that oil spills and I drown in my own emotional flurry of substance abuse and toxins. I want the highs and lows. I want to be unafraid of promiscuity and consequences. I'm afraid that I won't get that chance. That seventeen years old and you have to live, kid, before you die, thinking you wish you could've just had one more shot to do anything - everything.

And I wanted to let you know that anytime you want to pull on the strings that hold me together, I'm your puppet and I'll unravel at your touch. These winding, grinding gears have to get stuck sometime and I need you to lead me down that path. So I can wam, bam, thank you ma'am and find philosophy on the floor when my own heart beat keeps me up at night and your eyes are my map to the stars - guiding my untrained and rebellious love.