We all ask why, to learn something our brains don't currently hold. But there are a lot of whys that we do know, and it hurts. For me, there's thousands of them, and they bring tears, and this empty feeling in my heart. Hope is gone, is always has been and if it remains on this path, it'll always be gone. So, instead of asking someone who's obligated to give a positive answer because he's my dad and loves me, I'm asking you.
Why do you want an airbrushed dumb blonde with DDs? Why do you turn from me, ignore me, insult me, hurt me?
For those of you who hurt me in the past, having met me, why did you waste so many years of my life when I could've done the things you knew I wanted? Did you think I didn't deserve to be happy? Maybe you saw the why in me too, the why bother? I'm no flawless blonde, that's been touched by an angel. I crave stimulating conversation and it's so hard to find in the land of beer and murdered deer.
Why can't you accept me, for me? Love me for me? I do, sometimes. But the same old thing, I see myself. My hair isn't golden, I don't want it to be. It's part of me, and I, it. I'm no trophy, or arm candy or some Quasimodo to pull out of a drawer to entertain your fake friends. I hurt from your unknowing, uncaring neglect.
Why do you sneer at the poor broken hearted who may just have so much to offer you, in love, in companionship, in freedom of judgement?
The media depicts the ideal woman as 90 pounds of breasts with platinum blonde hair, no substance and a sex tape. Why is this who you want to false love?
Why not love me in my frail fears, my powers of random goofing off and warm hugs?
Why can't I have my slice of heaven and the pie to go with it?
Why can't you love, want, desire, need, yearn, crave…the entirety of me?
We're not all plastic Barbie dolls, with no hopes…but we really are running out of what hope is left…and some of us, are running out of time for what we really need.