it's midnight, and i'm sitting here with ammonnia fumes rushing into my eyes. my hair once again is it's natural jet black. washing off the dye, and watching the chemicals pour down from my hands, watching them run off down the drain like dripping blue blood, washing away...i'm wondering when i will wash the invisible blood from my hands. away... so far far away.
this stupid dye is so expensive and it's the second time this month that i've had to dye my hair. i spend way too much time in the sun. i'm wondering then, why won't they just let me leave it as it is. why can't they just let me be me? instead they force into a mould that i definitely do not fit. a mould in a uniform, emblazened with a badge, an identity to uphold. yet, it's not mine. that identity with it's little leeways and tolerances results in a boy in white and navy blue, with short neat hair, and shirt neatly ironed and tucked in. a studious cadence surrounds his submissive face. he is never late, never rude, never loud or obnoxious, forever surrounded by other clones.
of course reality detracts from ideality. but yet the mould now allows for a weird range of characters, the good, the bad, and the rugby sort. the ones that get made fun of in the staff room and used as a scapegoat for mischief in the school. when people use the things that surround in order to organize you and compartmentalize you into a system inorder to familiarize and therefore judge you before knowing you. you become everything you're not.
so where am i? what am i? the boy. the rugger. the photographer. the thinker. the writer. the actor. the artist. the scientist. the doctor. what good are these terms to me. the only one that makes sense is the misanthrope.
i don't care about people, i don't care for their thoughts or opinions, even less the ones in relation to me. i'm not here to be liked, i don't want to be liked. even if i did, who would like me? it is liberating, to finally say it. i can do what i want, say what i want, be where i want. no one would care. eccentricity, it's been used to describe me before, weird to those whom verbosity is beyond their short reach. i have no expectations except to be -- eccentric. isn't that lovely?
but surely you wonder, as if you even care, what is the cost? i'll never be part of what they call society. what does that mean? no parties, no hang outs, no large groups of friends. you'd never be able to live without that clique which sustained you in the last two years. you depend on them, you live for them, pondering every other moment till you see them next, and on which occasion, they refresh you, give you life, until they depart once more. insomuch that it shows you where your life revolves. such a concept is alien to me. you are alien to me.
you'll hate me, from the first minute, i'm unfamiliar. that's alright. i don't care. i can't be bothered.
and now back to math.
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