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Confessions of a Teenage Dreamer/Psychologist
My thoughts, dreams, aspirations. Anything I feel like writing, I will put into this journal. Comment, subscribe, love it, hate it, I don't care. Just read and accept it.
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I've Been Having These Weird Thoughts Lately |
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Just some random writings I've done recently.
I've always felt like I was born in the wrong time and place. Or something like I've lived and loved in another time, another place. Some times were filled with love and joy, others with anger, sorrow and hate. I've always felt connected with the British Isles for some reason. Maybe it's because I'm half English and part Scotch-Irish. But I don't think my heritage can explain the connection I feel with the Holocaust. I had a dream one night- one of the few vivid dreams I have ever had. I was a Jew and I was being sent into the gas chambers, naked with all the other women and children. For some reason, I remember clutching a bar of soap, like that was part of the illusion that we were just taking a shower. Once we were all packed in, the gas turned on. I just remember standing in the middle of the room, watching everyone else screaming, clambering over each other, trying to escape. The mothers clutching their children. The children are the first to die. The wailing gets louder, then starts getting minimally quieter over the seconds. I remember looking around, seeing the last ones alive climbing over the bodies, pounding on the doors as they are dying. The last thing I remember is tear falling from my eye as I collapse- the last to fall dead. When I woke up, there was only one tear rolling down my face. The dream was so realistic, I think of it every time I hear the theme for Schindler's List. I don't know if I believe in reincarnation, but this dream may be past memories coming back, or maybe just the collective subconsious coming to me in a dream.
Here's another (and this wasn't me writing about me, but I can see where the thought could come from) :
There's a girl I know. She puts on this tough exterior and acts like she doesn't care. But I know better than that. I see the sadness behind the smile. The anger behind her eyes. The pain of her heart sits on her brows, furrowing them deep. Any heartbreak would be too much for what is left of her heart.
Her arrogance hides her insecurities. Her cockiness conceals her fear. She needs to be told that tears are the safety valve of the heart when too much pressure is put upon it. Her presence makes those around her smile (some of the time), even when they can see her pain. For some reason, though, no one tells her that she needs to open her heart and let us in.
And my last I wrote originally as something for my book that the main character would say to her love interest, but I think it describes two of my friends I would like to be closer to.
Tell me why you hurt: tell me where too
I might not be able to help, but at least I'm trying to
Am I the cause? Or maybe the solution?
Maybe together, we could be the start of a revolution
If only I could understand your heart.
Well, that's all for now. I'll write some more later, maybe.
 singergurl17 · Tue Jan 06, 2009 @ 11:43pm · 0 Comments |
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