Scout E.S. in the Shadows

  I used to see art in loneliness. How intelligent must a person be to have the power to stand on their own? I'm not sure if I was wrong or if I have a skewed perspective now that I am lonely. I’ve realized that it’s less of a choice and more of a punishment. My soul is dying to leap out, to escape whatever trap I’ve set. I keep it in, with everything else, and I'm small again. I’m crying on bathroom floors in grade school, my tears flooding the ground, and I blame it on the sinks. Pouring, and pouring, and pouring, but I still deny that something is wrong. How can it be when I still work, study, and eat? How can it be when no one can tell? And when I’m crouched down, I become a silhouette, and it’s like nothing ever existed at all. If so, why does anything matter? Everything is black and white, and I flash between both because I can't make up my mind about anything.   I can’t decide if I hate my family for not being what I needed or if I love them for trying. I can’t te...