What do I do...woe is I

[Mишка (Miska)]

I guess I'm a bit stupid. My life is a ridicules mess. No matter what I do I will never be seen as a normal human being. But I have reasons... Many reasons. I do not like colorful clothing be the cause of my colour blindness. So I wear black and white. My new contact lens pair have now given me the ability to see the colour, red and variations of other colours containing red, but even so I do not so greatly enjoy the colour. It is new to me but is quite scary in people and it is that fear that causes me to slow my pace in inserting them. Sometimes stopping altogether in fear that I may see something so new to me that my heart may stop in awe of such an honourable vista. People see me clad in the black and assume I am of dark, they see me clad in white and stare a bore. "Oh she is quite the bore" I can imagine them saying it now. Or perhaps their words are simplified and reintegrated into an obserd sentence.. "Oh she is so boring" but what is it that I am turning into a bore? And can I turn something a bore if I am not a bore myself. Or perhaps I am quite intriguing enough to force something to be a bore buy comparison... Yes yes as though that where the case. But no matter of that! The meaning is what matters and that bothers me so... I like to 'read palms'... A science not magic, Although many of my peers seem to believe in the latter, calling me a witch or something of the sort, such idiotic superstition. I also enjoy writing ciphers, creating pictographs, and using symbols to represent words, phrases, and clauses. Of course none of that helps but if someone were to say to me,"well, maybe you should try not to be creepy, drawing strange stuff and pictures. You should stop so others aren't offended." I would simply respond, "I shouldn't have to." But is that really the right response? I haven't any thought as others would. My dreams (not the sleeping ones) are what seem to distance me from others. I sometimes worry of myself. In those dreams I stand high on many stairs high in the sky, over growth about the surrounding forest and ivy crawling and twirling up the stairs. An eye sitting acentre my head seeing into and about. Thin, black silhouetted people all about the land. Black, White, Green. The only true colours I can see. Vines, ivy flowering plants, strings, cords, metal suspending homes, water clear and pure shining the colour of the land. Only black, white, and green. Is this so evil, creepy, unsettling, disgusting to be drawn and recreated in form of paper and ink. The parchment is imperfect, the pen stirs in hand but perfection must be made. It is true but is still creation. Why. Why is this evil, why is there no perfection, why is there no truth in this creation. Why.