kendermouse

A lot of millenials have already worked hard, making it through college, because, in the world they were promised, a college degree is the key to the big bucks. But then the recession hit, and NOBODY had any jobs, except for those that their parents talked shit about, and who wants to work at a place that's going to mean your parents might talk shit about you? So, they gave up. Went back to the nest, and refused to take those jobs. ...and all the boomers made fun of them. Told them to take what they can get, and stop living with their parents. So, then there were some who actually did take what they could get, and go for jobs like McDonald

I'm nobody, nothing. Just a figment, made of writing and pixels, the manipulation of light in the shapes of recognisable letters, and of scrawlings on paper. I don't exist without you, independent of those who would create me, give me shape, give my thoughts a space on paper, on the screen. And yet... and yet I still hurt, when you put me down. I still bleed, when you cut into me.  I still cry, just like anyone. You tear me down, put me through hell, telling yourself it's all for the story, but what about that ache in the back of your throat? The tensing of your neck? The fighting back of tears, when you know I'm crying? Are those all fak

One night, he frightened me. And I ran out into that night, cold and angry and afraid, without jacket or shoes, And I walked. And I kept walking, down roads I didn't recognise, and had never known, confident that if and/or when I calmed down, I could easily find my way back. At the end of one street, I encountered his friends in a car. They saw me, without jacket or shoes, wild, wind-whipped hair, and a crazy look in my red-rimmed eyes, and they gave me worried looks in return, and offered me a ride back, wheedling until I gave in, because they cared, far more than he did, and wanted to see me safe and inside somewhere, before I got hurt,

I want to be as important to you as you are to me. Why is that so hard a task? I want to feel like I'm worth your time, can't you see? Guess that's just too much to ask. If I were gone, would you even realise? You look at me as though I were in the lowest caste. By now, this pain should be anesthetised... Yet it still hurts, to always be coming in last.