naive

i'm tired. i've hit the glass ceiling of the clique. or i should say the glass wall. thin as tissue, but might as well be iron for all the success my destructive endeavors have produced. i never even wanted to be a part of it, i just wanted to be included. i must not be funny enough. or cutesy enough. or pretty enough. or orthodox enough. is it too much to ask to just be friends? not best friends, not soulmates, but easily invited and easily talked to. i'm exhausted from inviting myself and trying to keep up with inside jokes and plastering that smile on my face all the time. it's disappointing knowing all that has been for nothing. why can i be friends with people one on one, but as soon as they all mass together they all wear the same face of vague disdain and lofty confusion at my futile attempts to belong? as a group, they're never mean, but never inviting. they're always incased in an impregnable, stereotype-woven wall that i can't break through no matter how i push. and they all watch me struggle against their perfect, degrading barrier and sigh to themselves: "she just doesn't get it." well i get it now. i'll stop trying. it's probably healthier that way.

woods -- bon iver
you're a wolf -- sea wolf
fences -- phoenix