the world just doesn't want to go his way. days go by where it's just the same old shit over and over, piling on too much for him to ever get done, mind racing faster than the speed of light. he waits for the weekend. he waits to be with people who understand a little bit. in the mean time he roams the halls feeling lost. he has entire conversations in his head, tries to figure out just what he should say, then he has to hold back the emotions before they all come leaking out. he holds in the anger, that teenaged angst, the feeling he gets every time he has to hear the annoying sound of his mother's voice. he holds in the tears, the babbling, the feeling of loss and confusion. he holds back every emotion that ever crosses his mind. he tries to stay neutral. he just tries so hard to keep from showing the emotional wreck he is inside. there is nothing about showing those emotions that would help him whatsoever in his quest to be viewed in a more masculine way.
he can't keep smiling. it's the human default in awkward situations and to him life is one big, awkward situation, but he just can't do it anymore. it's wearing him out more than it has to. the lump in his throat will always be metophorical, never seen by passer-bys, never mistaken for an adam's apple. sometimes that's all he really wants, some sign that he is a real boy. he knows that physically that is impossible to fully be a real boy, but that doesn't mean he'll stop trying. his mind and his soul aren't limited to such standards.
if his mind were a black-and-white pin-up girl, she would be the red lipstick, that one bit of colour, the one thing that makes it's way to stand out. there is no such thing as blending in being the only bit of colour. the one thing that breaks the routine of boredom.
boredom. surprising how much it looks like bedroom when he's tired enough. being tired is good, it means that dreams won't have to be waited for for so long. it means that there is a break before doing it all again.
<3 <3
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