Too late to be someone else

Few Things flourish in Harsh Conditions

I have always been edgy, rough, a misfit per say; or maybe... a mistake. From the moment I was young I knew I was obscure. Repeating things like a parrot who had visited many continents, retracing books back to the very word without having to read them. I am odd. I am "not right in the head". I am me.

As soon as I began elementary school I had a temper fueled by hate for everything. I knew behind every little girls big doe eyes and behind every little boys blonde waves they either hated me or felt sorry for me. Not a day went by where I wasn't tossing papers in the hall to bulldozing kids over for calling me a "fat cunt". How could such venom be spit from children of only 7 years old? Why was I the brunt of every joke? This ignited the fire further in my tiny heart. I am explosive. I will show them what I'm really made of.

I walked through the cold corridors of school. Meticulously I planned it all in brain. Lighting up the electrons in my brain, fueling them with venom until they oozed hate and my brain was only a black hole that destroyed anything it collided with. Today was the day, it was my reckoning. Pandora's box had been unchained, slowly opened, and the wrath about to be let out. My mouth was nightmarish, a small tiny evil was released that day. Before I knew it I was screaming, punching tiny holes into the wall hoping to break the school to its foundation. I had took every book from my desk and shredded it until my fingernails ran red. Picking up a plastic chair with the meta feet facing the window I shattered it..

Just as soon as this horror had begun; hurricane had flooded that classroom appearing only for a fraction of time. The strong winds that flow across the tundra on those frozen nights. It was finished. All my frustration, all my blood, sweat and tears. I had relief. With such a violent emotional eruption I was finally free of my chains. Turning around to view the damage I had done I felt ashamed. Why am I like this? What have I done to be someone who cannot control themselves? Authority figures approached, grasping my shoulder with a stern skeleton hand. Swiftly he left me from the classroom. These bracelets hurt my wrist mommy; I had screamed as I watched her race towards me. I had never seen my own mother look so broken as she did that day. The baby of her four children taken into handcuffs at the tender age seven. Watching through the glass of a policeman's car I read their lips. I watched in despair as she opened the door. She had cold, puffy eyes blue eyes.I had hoped she would flash me her warm smile and scoop me up in her arms as she always did. Now all I saw was a mother so distraught with an out of control daughter. I couldn't help but ask myself; why am I so odd? Why am I "not right in the head"? Why must I be me....