Ears Where Eyes Belong

i should be out there. i know that full well as i curl up into a pathetic ball in the middle of the mattress set in the corner of my room, next to my dresser. i hear the voices, i hear the noises of the people i share my home with, bickering back and forth about things that mattered once, but now are only fragments of the past that are better left alone and forgotten.

i wish on the bright numbers of my alarm clock. 11:11 comes twice a day because i am north american, and i don't go by military time. i take advantage of this, and try to wish my life away. but every day starts the same. i open my eyes and look around, recognizing that i have not, in fact, be teleported to some wonderful new location where everything is super fine fantastic, like i always wanted it to be.

they are talking about everything she ever did wrong. this has come up before, i've heard it.

she wasn't a good enough mother, she could have done something completely different with her life, she should never have gotten married to the man who is our father.

these are the headlines of their conversation. voices break, i hear the tears behind the words. the pain that is felt in those biting words of truth that no one else is ever brave - or petty - enough to speak aloud.

i feel like hiding. i don't know my place. i can't stick up for either, because i would feel like i was abandoning the other. so i stay in my room, the pathetic weak one, with my music in my ears, pretending i'm miles away and unable to hear them, but i can.

i always can. and i never want to.

i should be out there. but as i am deciding this, i hear the fake yawn, and the doors closing on bitter words. tomorrow, likely they will act as though nothing was ever said. that's how it always happens. i tiptoe about, making myself as invisible to them as possible, and life goes on, in it's circular motion, confusing the heck out of me as usual.

relieved that i avoided it, yet annoyed with myself for being so incapable of knowing what i want, i pull the covers over my head and pretend i am dead, as if that solves a thing.

it doesn't. i'm aware of that. but i like to use my imagination, or pretend that i still can.



The End

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