What makes me happy? What am I looking for so desperately that everything else is put on hold? Why do I have a scalding forehead and a wrenching stomach?

I magnify my callings, I attempt to be the best person I know how to be. I learn from others' mistakes, I look at myself from a third-person perspective, I try to be an observer and a participator. I love, I feel, I hate, I cringe, I cry. Where do I go from here?

Do I cling to the past? Do I attempt to make myself happy once more? I want to know that I'm inspired, that I'm intelligent, that I'm important.

The three I's.

But right now, I feel insignificant, ignorant...

Invisible.

I'm tired of sleeping my life away, driving from tooth to tooth, from bridge to crown, from porcelain to gold. I'm sick of mopping up floors and selling pastries and watching my talent in singing, my talent in writing, my talent in comforting and counseling go to waste.

I want to be happy again.

I want Ben back.

Benjamin James Parry.
Poet.
Musician.
Lover.
Passion.
Male.

Human.

I miss you. I miss you more than I've ever missed anyone. I don't know what to do anymore, but tell you that over and over.

Sorry that I didn't impress you before.
Maybe I can try harder.

Maybe I can finally get my Hollywood ending.

Or maybe I can continue my Hollywood beginning.

A wise person once told me that I was a good person. That I was too good of a person. That I was a good catch, that people are lucky to know me. They can't believe how creative I am, how broad of an imagination I have hiding in my skull.

I wonder if I broke it open, if all that creativity would be unleashed. Or maybe it would all slip out and fall through the cracks and drains of today's streets. If I broke it open, and left it for scientific study, what would they find? Health? Excessive activity?

Or simply a lifeless organ?

Just like everyone else.

I'm no longer insignificant. I'm going to make a difference. If not in my life than in someone else's. I'm not another stupid little teenage whore.

When your whole life you've been told that you're not good enough, sometimes you just have to scream "FUCK YOU!" at the top of your lungs.

So, here goes:

'Ben inhaled, formed his lips, and screamed...'