Tuesday, November 02, 2004
Maybe there might be hope. I can't help but think this way, it's me, I think. No one understands my turmoil, the oppression and the fury. We try, do we not. But I fail, each and every time. Can you see the maddness -fanned into flame. Perhaps, with all the tries that I'm given; with all the care and (ahem) concern, they just don't get me. Oh, for crying out loud, what is WRONG with the way I'm acting. So concieted, self-centered.
What is with the selfishness in the first paragraph? Big news: I got expelled. Kicked out. Outsted. Boom-wham-bahm erased off the face of SeanHill School. The point is- I am not in school. Gone are the days where i would roam the corridors, scavage of nooks and crannys which to hide from the teachers; maybe take down a verse or two; observe the students and singger to myself. Confessions of Philys Smith Tan.
Call me Phy. Phy S. That's the name the girls used to tease me by. I have tried to block it out, try not to listen, scream "shut up!" about ten times inside myself. I think its the way i throw my hands to my ears, clasp it tightly around and purse my eyelids firmly shut that they saw through my physcological barriers. No! They see me and they have gotten their revenge. They understand and they manipulate my plight. Horrible, insensitive, and plain tryants.
They are a reason I don't go to SeanHill anymore. And they are the only reason why I might have a reason to be happy not to go back.
Sorry. I doubt you really know, or even, comprehend my complicated, twisted (no, not ankle) angle. That's why You read. To find out more, more.
I am damaged.
Phy S.
whose happy ending
