I feel the need to be creative. Write, take pictures, do something. But it never turns out how I want it to. Never as good as the rest of them.
I am sick of being in school. I am sick of having a schedule, being forced to do the same all day, every day. Being herded like everyone else. I can't stand being treated the same when, really, I am no different. No different but less creative and unique. Walking through the door is synonymous with giving up. I can't win.
The anger runs electric through my body and my blood is so hot. Curdling like the scream that I won't let out. I want to run and thrash and kick and scream and bite and unleash the most unattractive scream you've ever heard. I want to show you just how opposite of your impression I really am. I want to take on tornadoes and running bulls. I want to leave my body and release the anger through my fists. I have never learned to fight well with my words. But I never learned to fight with my fists at all. Impulses do not make sense. I am not quiet, polite, smart, content, obedient. You just assumed me to be this way. So I don't let out my scream.
