(bio) A Face With A Name [mae9191]
2007-06-02 -- 12:13 p.m.

Oh, hello.

I was born on September First, in the year of 1991. When I arrived, there were five people to welcome me into their family. Two of them, were my parents of course, the two figures that still to this day I believe love each other more than anyone else could. The other three were all boys, excited and amused to see a new little face come along. My brothers, the things that I care more about than anything in this world. To me it’s a perfect life, even with all the lies and deceit. To me, nothing could get better in this moment, this perfect place with its strong walls. Here, I am safe, loved, accepted. Now, it’s the rest of the world that seems to have a problem with me.

I can’t help but look at myself in the mirror, or in any reflective surface for that matter. I consider myself to be a narcissist, because I judge myself constantly, think that I’m doing pretty well for myself, and I’m very selfish. I take things and rarely give back. I not only judge myself, but other people, and I usually never give them the benefit of the doubt. It’s a big problem. It has ruined friendships for me. It has ruined love for me. I want to blame the world, I always want to blame anything else, but in reality, it’s all my fault. My selfishness covered my eyes and altered the world around me to make it seem like everything else was the problem.

Writing is an escape to me, I can jot something down on paper and it will leave my thoughts entirely, or at least until I reread what I just wrote. There is also a negative effect to this. If I don’t write it down, I’ll lose all the feelings that go along with the thought, and I’ll be left numb. If I do write it down, I’ll never forget, the feelings won’t ever leave. You can call it a sort of grudge if you want. Emotion is the one thing in this world that I would never let go of. Once you lose emotion, you lose your own thoughts, and you start to become entirely and truly dead.

Everyone’s birth is important to them. There is physical birth and spiritual birth. Both need a name, don’t they? So, for the first, my parents decided to call me Hannah, after the biblical figure. At the time it wasn’t a popular name, but in my school now there is about six other girls with the same name. So, initially, there had to be another initial added to my face, to my image. And in a second I was alternately known as Hannah M. Green eyed, brown haired, tall, average, quiet; Hannah M. Call me what you like, it doesn’t really matter. As long as there is a name with the face. As long as I’m known as something to you, as long as I’m in your thoughts for a moment. People talk about not being judge, but no, to me you must judge, or I will not exist. If I’m just a passing face, then what use am I to this world?

As for the spiritual part of me, I haven’t discovered that yet. I’m a mystery to myself, I’m a mystery to my friends. I don’t make sense at times. I try to make everything mean something, but I can’t always express it. Sometimes feelings are attached along with the thought, and you can’t always show someone how you feel. Especially if it’s just churning in your gut. But once I do find myself, I suspect that my name will not be something you could say aloud. It would be a feeling, something that you hear while listening to a song, the feeling of scratching a word onto the page. I’ll be marked down.

”Black Hearts and Golden Spades”

Why does love turn livid?

Zeal embarks out timidly and with few requests,

like a mouse before an untamed lion,

then bursts into coral flame, an opera sounding throughout.

The fervor panics the delicate

but sustains the almighty,

raveling all in its lustrous web.

Their psyche snarl creating one undivided,

twisted but superb like an edge to an enemy,

desecrating fresh life, but embracing divine bonds.

Why does love turn livid?

Brilliance commands in this instant,

no tears are shed, no battles are lost,

serenity controls the realm.

Meetings are forever sweet and cherished,

details are remembered and glorified,

leisurely occurrences become the most romantic.

Nothing regretted and nothing willingly given away,

time at rest yet spinning rapidly,

information forgotten, emotion welcomed.

Why does love turn livid?

The vessel breaks and shatters, now non-existent,

bleeding and crying for what there once lay,

hopes torn and fears made real.

Forever love is now only a cliche,

acted over again like a heartbreaking story,

tuning into your desires and ruining them on-air.

The hearts pump sable blood into apathy,

fueling the soul with gasoline to set alight

once the bruises mend and the pain subsides.

Why does love turn livid?

All things recycle in time, all things change in seconds,

but there is no reason for something so beautiful

to wither to ashen dust, and collapse.

Why does love turn livid?

This is just a part of my world. See more.