As mentioned before. An angsty-ish quote. Because it's been five years since Junior High and apparently I didn't get my fill then. But I like this, and even at twenty still feel this way sometimes. Sooo read on emo children.
"Sometimes I feel like I have multiple personality disorder.
There's a part of me that wants to be innocent and sweet and pretty, you know? Pale pink lips, unchipped white nail-polish, a ribbon in my hair. I'd wear ballet flats and bright sundresses. I'd giggle and smile with small white teeth. I'd dot my i's with hearts. I'd sign my name in rounded cursive. I'd be so perfect it'd make people sick, but they'd have to love me anyways.
But I also want to be the mysterious one- the dark-eyed girl with the beat-up converse shoes and black sketchbooks, lines of cryptic poetry inked on the pulse of her wrist. I'd be either shy and quiet or bitter and darkly sarcastic. In a sick, twisted way, I'd want a painful secret so I could be broken like those girls you read about so often. The ones with the walls and masks and boys who save them.
But then there's a part of me that wants to be... a girl who is not of this world. The one people people can't quite place their finger on. I'd be at the tip of their tongues- always at the tip and nothing more- because I'd have a name like Quicksilver or Starchild or something absurd and weird and wonderful, and I'd dance in the rain, sing, laugh, scribble thousands of poems in the streets with chalk at dawn (or I'd refuse to be tied down by a name) and I'd be bursting with fire and glowing with just this- this energy, and I wouldn't smile or grin- I'd beam, be the one to say I wanted to fly, and no one would ever quite know if I could achieve it or not simply because I'm not fully human, weighed down with rules and beliefs and others. My favorite color would be yellow, and I'd say I was sunshine or rain or summer breezes and people wouldn't be able to argue that I wasn't because I simply was. And they would stare, not knowing whether to smile and be happy for my happiness or shake their heads and worry for my sanity. I'd captivate, paint art abstractly, splatter canvases with all these bright, beautiful colors- but I wouldn't call them because I paint with bursts of light, sky, grass, sunsets- and I'd be random, actually random- not just the way everyone says they are nowadays, and I'd be everywhere and everything at once. I wouldn't be quite real. I'd be imperfect and bizarre and unearthly. But I'd like it- this drifting, this undefined state, untouchable and just burning and burning and burning with life."