Proof that Some Things are Scarier

On Wednesday, I wrote up this skit scene, it was just thoughts in my head. Came from me thinking ‘bout Desperate, just a bit of that mood in my head, but it’s not quite right, more a rant at no one, and yet matter to the person speaking.

 

Anyway, when I finished writing it (you’ll learn more below) I thought of putting it up on fb, which is what I normally do. Maybe have it on my fan page, since I didn’t have anything to say on my weekly talk over there.

Then the idea hit me. Tumblr. Put it up there.

 

It’s a good idea, people will most likely see it more than. I haven’t put my name on it, not really, because I don’t care that much about it, and quite honestly, I have to be careful. It’s not editing, just words, a voice that needed its say.

 

Anyway, you can find the original post here, and let me tell you, the nervous I felt when I pushed post on Tumblr were twice as hard and bitting then when I hit send when submitting a story to a publisher.

I think maybe because it’s so much more judgmental, another reason I didn’t put my name to it. Because people don’t think, even when they are, and everyone has to say one thing or another.

Then again, it’s a heart or a repost, if it’s liked, a pass by if not, and if it’s that horrid it will be trolled a little, maybe. But how often do you see that (yeah, I’m staying in my deluded bubble).

 

Scary shit

 

The scene, itself, is a little scattery but I think it works, because it’s not about the person in general and yet it’s there, in the words spoke, because your can’t stand back when you’re in that position and make generalisations.

 

The thing I want to make sure you know, before I post it here, for you, the thoughts came out of my guys head, or that headspace I would have to be in to write this book. but when I got to the second paragraph I realised it wasn’t actually going to be a part of the book, and made it someone else.

 

It’s just…once I took it away, I realised the rant would work better on a different level, or that it wasn’t actually a part of that story, I couldn’t third party it. I couldn’t get rid of that feminie voice in my head.

This isn’t my MC from Desperate, this is someone else, this is

 

Screaming

 

Why do people get off? horny? Boredom? Because they need to assert some form of maleness to whatever demon’s whispered in their ears.

            For food? for a goddamn place to rest your head with a knowledge that you can just relax, be what you wish you were without getting a foot to the head and told your nothing but shit by people who have no idea what they’re talking about. What it’s like to not have food or a dry place to stay.

            To get away from the meanness of random people who think there better than you but are willing to pay for your arse, while telling you what a fucking whore your are, and how it’s your own fucking fault you’re in this position.

            Do you know how many people are on the streets, sleeping in daylight for but a moment, and wondering if there gonna get a scrap of money or if they’ll be eating outta the bin again.

            You think any of us want that. You think we deserve this life.

            You think anyone deserves this.

 

I’m born a little different. With voices playing in my head, making me someone I don’t want to be, but are unable to run from.

            You think loving someone, being someone you couldn’t help being is a reason for anything. You think just because the skin that wraps around my bones is different than what it should truly be, is something to be published for.

            You think just because I’m unable to stop the voices, the needs, and are unable to begin to look for the help I need.

            You think just because someone else made a move at me. touched me where no one should ever, in a time I didn’t know what it was used for, that I deserve to be called a liar as I scream and cry and pray he’ll leave me alone, even as my parents make me stay at his house.

            You think because I ran. Ran from a life that was no better than the one you’re spitting at now, because of things I didn’t want—things I couldn’t push away. Things that just shouldn’t have happened to me in a time I was unable to fight.

 

You think I deserve a life of hatred from people who wouldn’t understand real pain even with a knife pushed deep, because there isn’t anything in your life that’s half as bad as what I went through just for being the person I am.

            I am me and because of things outside my control I’m sitting here in the rain, the stinking heat, the cold wintery night, with snow clutching at my eyelids. I am who god made me to be, and no matter what you say, or what you think, I could be you just as easily as you could be me.