just plain tired

Each morning I get up, sit up in my bed and stare out my window.
I always wake up 6:59, 1 minute before my alarm clock sounds its annoying ring.
Each morning I pound the snooze button, rip the plug out and throw it at the wall.After a sufficient bang from the sound of a bruised alarm clock meeting a battered wall, slowly I'll stand up, squish the carpet between my toes, stretch my aching body and drowsily walk over to pick up my clock.

I've learned to subconsciously ignore the giant chunks of dry wall missing, the dents and marks and crumbling sections of my wall; caused by the constant abuse of my alarm clock.
Sometimes I notice the damage I've done. Sometimes I will run the tips of my fingers over the wall, letting the anger it contains enter into my soul, through the tips of fingers I allow myself to feel it's hurt.

Every morning I trudge down the never ending, cold dim hall from my room to bathroom before the rest of my family becomes reanimated with the spirit they call joy (but that really is concealed sadness) to live a thing they call life (but really is the slow process of dying) I do this to avoid the possibility that I become forced to care about someone needing to get in the shower as I do my hair or needing to cut short my lava (or arctic) showers because someone wants me to put breakfast on.

The floor sometimes talks to me, creaking words that you'd hear if you'd listen, whispering to me all it knows I need to hear. Truth. 'Your'e UGLY!' 'Your fat!'Your'e stupid' 'Your'e all alone!' 'Nobody cares, your'e worthless!!'

And in response all I bother to say is ''I know..." I let my words fall off, to leave the ever shouting floorboards curious as to how to degrade me appropriately.

I stop short outside the bathroom door, taking 5 (always 5) deep breaths to calm my nerves and prepare myself for the horror show. But I'm never quite ready.Every morning I stand outside the bathroom door for 10 (always 10) minutes before mustering the courage to go in.

Every morning I open the door and see a face I despise. She's so ugly. Her eyes are off. Her ears are big. Her brown negro skin is appalling. Her teeth don't sparkle. Her laugh isn't sweet.She's not stick thin. She's not a success. She's not beautiful or likable or needed or wanted. She cut's herself and is stained by streaks of blood on her wrists and thighs and feet.
She lives for her skin to be transformed into ribbons of bloody flesh. She wants to go deeper. She has scars. She's decorated with pain and self-hate.

To start your day with someone you hate, someone you can't escape. It gets you sad you see. They say your default mood for each day is determined by your thoughts during the first 20 minutes after waking up. I cant help but feel sad and dreadful of her face; and disappointed that another day of life I've come to see.

If she were anyone else I'd love and accept her but she isn't anyone else.