Sprinkling Words

My words aren't meaning much right now. They're falling. Falling. Falling on deaf ears that wouldn't want to hear them anyway. They don't heed them. They don't cry or laugh at the right times. I can't make anyone hear the words the way they were meant to be heard. I suspect they are being mangled.

Nothing is turning out the way I need it to. Is everything suspended? Am I not meant to make a difference yet? Am I meant to stay right where I am, to not get through when I make calls, to encounter the busy signal on Samantha's phone for an hour, punching the buttons in tears for someone to talk to? Doesn't happen very often...but it has.

I'm fighting a lot. Which is weird because to look at me, you'd see a serene, happy, 16 year old girl who smiles a lot, who never backs down to adults, who refuses to call people by Mr. and Mrs, who doesn't wear brand names and who spends every waking moment working for travel money, writing or peering intently into the computer screen as random text soars by. You'd see somebody with no problems. You'd think I was fine, I'm good, I've got everything going for me. I've got parents that are still married and happy, a town with no crime, family that lives in the area and a steady job. Because I'm pretty good at hiding things, at not letting you see what's underneath that glass shell that collapses only when I let it.

Time for work. More Later.