"Stone In My Heart"

I'm angry, and that in itself makes me angry. I don't remember the last time I was angry like this. Bitterness sets in, and I feel my hands shaking, the blood rushing to my cheeks, like a bull ready to rage at the red-shaking moron. I can't believe I did this. I knew to do my best, and I slacked off. I wish I could take my frustration out on someone, some victim willing to let me ruin their lives. I know I don't really want to hurt anyone, but it would be nice to have the option. No, I would just feel bad after. Either way, I'm just angry! I can feel this anger pulling me down, resting yet building in my heart. I can't stand the sight of her, the very thought of smelling her perfume or seeing her hair braided to the side like that. Who is she to think that she has the right to talk to me? What makes her think that everything's okay just because I know how to fake a smile. I feel like my blood is literally boiling! I give her ten more minutes to be in here, but after that, I'm not responsible for what I do.

I'm a pathological liar. I try to find things that seem comic or all too serious and mess around with the facts, twist the plot a little in order to get the pot boiling. Truth is not what I want. Truth is the cousin of every malicious thing I have ever known. Truth is what gave me this scar from my mother, what rests on every dollar that is stuffed into her undergarments, reminding her that she is pathetic, scraping bottom for a vision that is exactly that, a vision. Lies protect us; they embrace us while we cling to their warm words, promising to surround us no matter what. They lie within us, like a stone, serving as a foundation, in our heart. Truth slips away, whereas lies multiply, promising their company for as long as I'm willing to allow them. I set no time limit to this, no hopes for stopping. Wish for tomorrow, hide today...my motto. No, it's not really. But I guess the point is I should never know.

I cry more than I should. I know at this point, it doesn't mean anything. I just think that the only healthy way of expressing myself is to keep crying, let everyone know what I'm feeling. That's what my friend does, anyway, and it always seems to work for her, so why not for me. I wish that there was a guidebook for this, when to cry and when to just let my eyes glisten with water threatening to run out. The effect is different every time, depending on the situation, but normally I get the attention I need. I cry for reasons that I don't even understand. I guess that makes me less genuine that what I would have wanted when I first started this thing, but then again, I was a different person then. That was before my heart was weighed down, almost clogged by something disturbingly heavy. Now I breathe in life differently. It's all a tragicomedy to me. I'm what you call a typical high schooler. If not, I'm different, and that makes me cry too. Both ends promise gold.

I laugh all the time. Pain means nothing when faced with laughter. Laughing is the cure to anything, but most importantly it saves you from getting hurt. I laugh when it's not even called for. My laughter, varying in pitch defines me. I hate the sound of someone crying or screaming, but I laugh it off and urge them to do the same. My teachers are always getting angry at me, laughing during a movie about the Holocaust or laughing too loudly, even when something is genuinely funny. Does this matter though? I'm safe and functional. I can  get out of bed in the morning and not want to puke at what I see. I'm not disgusted by myself to the point of tears when I try to fall asleep every night, though my stomach often hurts from laughing too hard. My doctor says I have a stone in my heart, blocking the emotions that I work so hard at laughing off. When he told me I would life with no humor, maybe even meaning, I laughed and told him to try smiling a little before he tells his next patient they have stones in their vital organs. As I walked out into the waiting room, I watched a little boy struggle to get out of his chair in order to comfort his mom who was sobbing two chairs down from him, laughing all the while.

I live. I breathe. I survive. I try my best to hone my anger at the things I can change, the things that pervade our society like bigotry and fear of ineffective products and lifestyles. I lie to protect my loved ones, but I say the truth more than I should, hoping that someone will learn from my actions and follow them with new-found compassion. I cry when someone is cruel, when someone is merciful, or when someone is purely beautiful, but I also save my tears for those who deserve it, allowing each tear to make me become stronger. I learn from each drop of water I release, hoping to make tomorrow better for those who have earned these tears. I laugh until my sides burn, aiming to spread cheer, or at least make someone smile alongside me. I laugh to absorb beauty, burn the moment into my memory so that I may smile at it in the later years. I feel. I feel. Empathy is the motif of my life, running into me with every person I meet. For them do I laugh, cry, lie, confess, become angry or unjust. For them do I live. For me do I live. I live. I breathe. I survive. I feel. There is more to this life than me. There is more than us. There is life, and there is our life. My strength goes to this: the hope for a smile covered in tears, blistering with anger and happiness, bursting with laughter, and masking the malicious lies with the delicious truth. My love, my life, goes the demolition and acceptance of this stone in my heart.





That's all I have for now. Thanks for reading and remember to keep writing!