potatoes and sour cream

alone is never really peaceful. neither is being with you. every little reason another spark for a reaction that'll end up exploding in not only his and hers, but also my face. hearing the click of the door lock makes me worry about a lifeless body hanging inside after hearing you cry yourself to sleep the night before. not like he could hear it, haha. seperate, my favorite people, or at least you should be, i can't really tell anymore as you're no longer seperate entities although seperate is the word id use, unlike most who can't see through the looking glass i keep so tightly shut in my school bag, a long train ride my only escape, escape from this act you put on around them. why can't you act around me? am i old enough? i wish i was still young. sounds ridiculous, right? everyone around me being seemingly so much older yet less mature, feeling as though ive been forced to grow up yet i have nothing to show for it other than the tear stains under my eyes that my skin tries oh so hard to conceal, the shaking in my hands as i struggle to write another paragraph, the laugh i use to mask my tears as im crying, my fingers picking and tapping at yet another string as i play this instrument i call 'myself'. 

as i find the courage to speak up, every little thing triggering the gunpowder in my throat, scratching, itching, getting it out of my system you yell at me that im crazy, you're not yelling, why am i yelling? you're yelling at me. ive been crying the whole time, why haven't you noticed? sounds of my restrained sobs muffled by the loud music i love, my interpretation of the words on the page someone scribbled 20-something years ago feeling realer and realer as my ears continue to ring, why are you calling me crazy? im just a kid, im all grown up, you can't pick and choose depending on how you think i feel. leaving couldn't make it better, which ever way you threaten to leave only leaving my soul shattered and mashed along with the food on my plate that the drooping feeling in my stomach is no longer attracted to, the rumbling not being from hunger but for longing for being perfect as a whole, not me, us. not a single week without a raised voice, let alone a day. that would be a vacation, seeing as we can't afford a real one. is that really a financial issue or can you not stand to be in the car for hours, making every beautiful trip feel like a cart ride down to the depths of hell and this highway im on, leading me to it.