Being Held Hostage

July 28, 2001

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My blonde roots are beginning to show but who here would notice such an insignificant change? I am sick of being ignored when I have something to say and angry by the fact that the only attention I receive is when I’m “made up” like a woman should be. Egos fueled by testosterone are probably the biggest turn offs I have witnessed, but tonight I paid no mind and tried to enjoy my familiar company. If I had the courage to jump I think I would, but I’m cooped up in a rented bathroom instead turning up my nose towards happiness and looking for a corner to call my own. My soul is much too old and I can’t laugh quite as easy as before. I can’t enjoy life quite as easy as before…If you were here today, what in the world would we be like? I have grown too cold to remain carefree, and maybe you would be just as far away as you are now. Satisfaction never visits me anymore, and as it has been a while since I have truly impressed myself, I have been trying too hard to produce what I don’t possess. The things I never tell them could fill a book, and with this benefit at hand, I can remain on top instead of fulfilling my need to jump. The things I’ll never tell them. Tonight, I have set up camp in the bathroom feeding my reluctance to leave what little time I have alone.

Author: Lindsay Niemann

Writer | Graphic Artist