Born Broken

I was born broken. This is what makes me the way I am. I feel aspiration is futile because I have too many hamsters running around in my brain. I have too many good ideas and not enough drive. I will never have self-confidence because I was born without the capability. I know I am smart, maybe even exceptionally so, but I have no outlet. Creativity inspires me, beauty, the female form, the effects of perception, the idea of love. But I will never reach my creative aspirations, my screenplay will never be written, I will never truly feel loved. I was born broken. I will always be scared and never show it, I will cry but only in my sleep, I will wear tight bodices and apply makeup, and will never be beautiful. I am a tortured person, and yet I revel in my torture. My head is a constant torrent of ideas and random thoughts and insights that no one will ever understand, because I have been broken for so long that assembling some sense of normalcy would be a farce. When surrounded my intelligent, creative beautiful people I feel as if I am an apple on a table of mangoes and kiwis, bland, unnoticeable except in my shortcomings. When surrounded by the mindless zombies or popular America today (the Paris Hilton fans, the shopaholics, those wooden people who let the world speed by them while they ignore the loud ticking of life at the makeup counter, or rifling through Prada, the Britney lovers, the Cali-fornicated youth of our consumer driven country) I feel smothered and angry, repressed and violent. I feel like a thousand firecrackers are under my skin, waiting for the opportune moment to blow my being outward, ideas bouncing off on another, only to fall in desperation of what I cannot do. I want to aspire to greatness, to leave my fingerprints on someone's soul, to have a voice, loud and clear and skewed, but alas, I am a prisoner of my own shortcomings. Never will I be loved, never will I be understood, never will I be beautiful, never will I rest. I am not distubed by this much. I know I will never stop eyes on the street with my good looks and charms. I know I will never be able to get the words aligned properly to say what it is I am trying to explain. I know I will never feel loved completely, faults and all, and for this reason I will never experience love the way it should be felt. Always will I be insecure. Violence and anger, and shoving the tears back into the pit of my stomach will always be how I deal with my too strong, too masculine emotions.I will always put barriers up, never give myself to anything with abandon, too afraid of repercussions. 22 years ago, when I forged my way into my own existence something didn't sit right, something was tweaked, and I was born broken. But because of this gift, and I do believe it is a gift, I will never stop thinking, never stop hoping, that one day I will bloom. One day, I may get that perfect phrase out of my brain and onto paper. One day I will find beauty in myself. One day I will throw myself without second guessing into something. One day I feel love's pure hand. Until then, I experiment, play, collect people, watch Tarantino films, read everything, record everything, squirrel away my whole life to fill that void left in me with knowledge. Broken is better, because only when broken can you value perfection.