• Why do I feel the need to explain my heart, to open it to those who will turn away, who do not love me, but what I can do for them. I open my mind to things of sadness for comfort, to acts of love that I wish I cold find, or that wold come to me. I know that watching these things is only self inflicting pain, ripping a hole in myself that only becomes harder and harder to sow. I have also noticed that I contradict myself as well. I wish to be alone with my darkness yet I want others to see it. I want people to know there is something wrong, yet I don't want them to just ask if I am okay in that empty manner that is required. I tell them I'm okay, and they leave it at that. My friends, though however wonderful, are not very good friends to me. I often wonder if they understand the degree of loneliness I feel when they ignore me while I'm speaking, or never call. I want to tell them that my heart bleeds, I want them to know I'm sad, but I doubt they would care. They would complain about how their lives were worse than mine but they don't listen long enough to understand that my home stands on the tip of a knife. I want to close myself to the world and the delusions that come with it but I can never do it because I am so dependent of others that I can't stop following them. My weakness to shrug off those who are not good to me, those who never listen to me, those who just want to gain things from me, sickens me to my core. I truly have begun to hate myself for the things I don't say. I silently suffer the darkness and the pain that comes with it. Slowly feel a hole enveloping my heart. I try music as an outlet but why listen to music that is significant to others pain, it would be pointless, yet I would never hurt myself to outlet my torment. But I will bottle it, save it, hide it. Maybe someday I'll find happiness and lose the bottle that is over bursting with my sadness and hatred toward those who choose not to understand me. After all this is my heart, I wouldn't trade it for anything, I would never wish my loneliness on another, and I am afraid of who I would be without it. If only I could share it. Maybe it would heal. My poor heart.