There are times when I feel discontent because I cannot write a book. I once read this one novel, my junior year of high school, and I wanted to use my special bubblegum pink highlighter on every page. It was one of those books you wish you could hand to people and say “read this and you’ll understand me.” The only issue with that plan is that most people won’t take that much effort to understand you. Many don’t care or bother to grasp that there is an underneath to everyone, like a secret sea full of a mixture of darkness and dappled light. Sometimes my sea is black and poisonous which is why I need to write a book.

There are times when I feel discontent because I cannot fall in love. Sometimes I meet a beautiful boy with mysterious brown eyes and I think well that’s someone who would do. They are remarkable and infallible and then we meet again and kiss maybe. Then I think that I don’t really feel anything. I wish I could enchant them more or enchant them less because I can see the whole thing splay out in a spiral leading to a clock which marks the point at which our hearts will break. Sometimes my heart is numb and nothing can make me happy or sad which is why I need to fall in love.

There are times when I feel discontent because I cannot save you. I see that you walk the circular path of self-destruction. In the way you are addictive. In the way you don’t eat so you can control your weight even though you can’t control your life which spins on it’s head like a top. In the way you love an indulgent boy who only loves himself. I wish handfuls of goldfish and reason were enough. Nothing makes me happy when you destroy yourself which is why I need to save you.

There are times when I feel discontent because I cannot stop being with you. Your presence is a fluorescent room and I am fine to go along in that pretty world. You spout words that bubble me up to an absentminded happiness. But when the lights go off and I am away from you, those words bubble me with anger. Anger that you can’t see what’s underneath and that these words can never bubble out of me. I need to be of free of reliance, and you rely on me to generate your supremacy, I need to stop being with you.

There are times when I feel discontent because I cannot stop reliving you. I cannot stop the dreams where I am pinned beside you. I cannot stop the dreams where I scream at you. I cannot stop the dreams where everyone forgets but me. I cannot stop the black heart you left in me nor can I get back the innocence you took from me. I am not present anymore which is why I must stop reliving you.

There are times when I feel discontent because I cannot stop repressing you two. Even when I stopped being with you, the stain of your mind stayed. I repress how I was someone else other than the girl who was me, the girl I want to get back to. I repress to erase the past. He was less subtle then you, in the way you both hoped to use me and I would be a good girl and let you. Erasing didn’t work, in fact, it’s worse. I need to stop repressing you two.

There are times when I feel content because I am talking to you. You let me flush out the black poisonous sea that they have left inside me. You let me tell my story. You let me tell of men who use girls and of women who abuse themselves. You let me tell of how I try to run away and how I try to stay and save. You tell me how to carry on and how I’m brave. I think I’ll be okay because I am talking to you.