I lay in bed early on
a Saturday morning,
not knowing whether to get up and start the predictably
uneventful day
or lay in bed ‘til about twelve in the afternoon,
when I’d feel obliged to move since I’d hear my
parents muttering about how I ‘don’t do anything for
this god damned family’.
When I thought about becoming a teenager I never thought it would
be anything like this:
a boring uneventful life with around five friends who you only
see for about three hours at school;
annoying as hell parents who have less trust in you than they did
when you were three even though you do nothing anyway
and less of a social life than
a dead squirrel on a highway.
I thought I would be popular; different people to sit with every
week, adventures, parties, boys.
However, this was not the case for me.
((as you can tell since I’ve stated it, if you can’t
remember, then maybe you should pay a bit more attention))
I’m weird.
Not the kind of loud kid who everyone wants to be friends with
because they’re so loud and ‘weird’, no,
I’m weird weird.