disclaimer: i hereby declare that i mock only myself. oh yeah, and the rest of society. i in no way, shape or form am looking for the "goths" to get mad at me for questioning their reasons. i personally am too scared of society to go "goth" or "punk" (note the quotation marks) and i respect those who have the courage. way to be individual. so this is not to mock you, it is to mock my inner self and society. don't knock it.

slap on that eyeliner.
hope for it to cover up
the tear tracks
that you know aren't really there
just another delusion
burned into your memories
a remnant of beauty not
describable by mere
words.
so try more lipstick
and quickly, before it cakes over and
cracks off, letting the rest of the world
in.
you couldn't have that.
maybe if you let them see
a bit of... you
they will be blind everything else
and ignore the scars on your wrists.
but they're covered up anyway.
and maybe they'll drag you off to some
crazy
nutty
batty
whacky
insane
shrink...
but that's what they want from you, right?
you've missed the birdie.
get with it, hon
you're simply another manic-depressive freak.
maybe if they slap a label on you
you'll snap
crackle
pop
right back out, like
a rubber band slingshot, the one
you used to kill flies with.
oh!
another excuse for diagnosis.
eventually, you know, they'll pile up enough
"evidence"
to send you someplace you
don't want to go, or
maybe that's another thing you're hiding, eh?
just blame the teenage hormones, or
the parents, or
the siblings, or
the bad company.
anything but yourself...
don't stand up for yourself.
society will just make you lie back down
and pat you on the head
"just a warning, this time"
take a nap and a Tylenol
and it'll be all better when you wake up.
make sure not to swallow the whole bottle, now.
we wouldn't want a worthless addition to society
gone, now would we? why
would you think that? i
never said it. don't
put words in my mouth, young lady, i
won't tolerate that kind of behavior from you. now
let's sit down and discuss this, like
civilized people, and
i'll buy you a vanilla latte. isn't
that good? yes. and
you just smile and nod and go back to
pretending, because they don't understand, and
never could, never would. so
you shrink back into your too-small Linkin Park
t-shirt from the concert last summer, the one
where you got drunk. reenter
the cycle, and maybe this time, they
won't notice the
scars.

~.~

heh. i laugh bitterly.