By: Angel

I feel like I am so hopeless, distant shell of what I use to be. A wanna-be of something I once was. Something I canít return to. Something that maybe I never was to begin with? Something I once knew? Even liked? Who knows any more, not I thatís for sure.

I feel like a caged animal, confined to a cell. Not allowed to go where I wish, never being free. Always being watched, always being tamed. Never allowed to be as I wish to be. I always appear to other as I should, not as I am.

I always wondered what it would be like being me? Not feelings sorry for my feelings, or ashamed. Or feeling the fear that I will be rejected for being myself. Stand tall for what I believe in. Not stepping back. I wish to know what it is to be proud of yourself?

These wishís is something I can only dream of for now. Dreams I must leave unfinished. Leaving fantasies died alone. It makes me numb to believe in my own words that I speak to others. Numb to feel these false emotions, that I forced to feel. But I refuse to believe these emotions are my true feelings.

Surely I am not that cold of a person? Or maybe I am just weak? For bowing to others? Maybe someday I can clear my eyes, wet my lips and shout,

ďThis is not me, I refuse to be this person any longer. Do you hear me?Ē

I wonder if any one would believe me? Since I have told so many lieís? Would some one see through my lieís, would someone care? I would like to think I matter as something to someone? But as this world changes it ainít just my self I doubt any more. Sometimes I simply wish I was only the doll people think I am.

A emotionless doll, that has been discarded. Tossed aside without care. Not wanted any longer. A useless tool thatís been chipped or broken. I wonder when I started to a mere object than a person? Something to be used and not loved?

I really donít think I want the answers to my questions. The answers might be more damaging than the questions. Answers that might brake whatever is left of me. I feel as empty as I feel these days, totally empty. I feel and am nothing.

I believe I was something in the early years of my young life? But I donít think any one can remember such times? I surely can not! As history changes and is forgotten I am nothing mere than a weak girl of past. Forgotten by those who said they would always remain, a past memory. Yet I remain here as a shell of what I use to be. Of I girl that has long since have lost her innocents.

I suppose I am happy as a mere shell of something that might have been great? Great within itís right I guess? Something to be remembered someday. When someone call spare a moment to remember someone that was never really here. Someone that was just a shell of something that never was, nor never be.