If walls could talk...

My room would tell you the stories of how many times I have cried because of boys breaking my heart, because of the mean words spoken to my face and behind my back by "friends" and enemies.

They would tell you of the betrayals by friends. They would tell you the things I have muttered under my breathe at my parents. They would tell you the tears cried over hurtful words, screaming and hot, red faces with emotions boiling to the surface.

They would tell you of the isolation, loneliness and disappointment I feel on a daily basis.

They would tell you of the longing i have for so many good things, for a better, happier life.

They would tell you of the nights when I could barely sleep because of excitement; they would tell you of my dreams and nightmares, of my disappointed hopes and buried emotions and thoughts.

They would tell you my darkest, most deep secrets.

They would tell you of the countless phones calls I had with those whom I have loved, love and will forever love.

They would tell you of my fears.

They would tell you of sleep overs filled with whispers, giggles and moments of extreme happiness.

They would tell you my most memorable moments. Both the good and the bad.
They would tell you of my insecurities. They would tell you how to wrap me around your finger, to make me happy, and secure. They would tell you what I really want.

They would tell you how sick and tired I am of pretending we have a picture perfect family. That those only exist in portraits.

They would tell you how I want a worthwhile relationship with my mother, the ones I envy from my friends. They would tell you of my regrets. They would tell you how sorry I am. They would tell you how much I hate the fighting, and then quickly putting on my mask to hide the hurt and the imperfection. They would tell you how I want to be able to be remotely civil with Justin everyday.

They would tell you of unspoken words. They would tell you how hard I have had to work, when I have given up, or moved on.

They would tell you the truth.

They would tell you who I am. Who I want to be. What I want to do.

My living room...oh boy. The living room.
The living room would tell stories of why my family is the way it is now. They would tell you of how many fights have been fought and remain unclaimed. It would tell you the painful stories of emotions no one should feel.

It would tell you of the rare nights where no one is willing to put up a fight and can just go with the flow, and watch AFV or something, then they would tell of the laughter to follow the shows.

They would tell you of phone conversations and choice of music listened to.

They would tell you of frustrations, healing, disappointment, happiness, tragedy,

They would tell you of my mistakes, along with Justin's, Chad's, my papa's and my mothers.

They could tell you the hours spent fighting over meaningless things, the painful words thrown around, the mental and emotional abuse that has gone on because of things.

They would tell you alot about the personalities of my family.

They would tell you time after time of all the ridiculous things we get riled up over. They would tell you doubts, sarcasm, tears cried, feelings hurt, of desperation, and the longing to help another.

They would tell you of the anger, animosity, bitterness, and hypocrisy here.

They would tell you of words needing to be said, but not. They would tell you of the [unfair] judgements passed, sneaky deeds, the loss of control, the stress and fear and struggle.

They would tell you about everyone's life who has live here-they have seen and heard everything at least once, if not more than a dozen times.

They would tell you because they listen.