Loopholes

I am made up of positives.
Of negatives and legislation and laws and lectures.
I am made up completely of particles that no one has a name for,
because even the person who dubbed them has no idea what they are.
We're all pretenders.
That's why we have this.
This name that we hide behind like it will remove all the features from our face like dry erase and reform them into something even more misplaced.
We're afraid.
We see beneath the floor something that makes up the thing that scares us most.  It comes from the mouths of our tormentors and the minds of our friends.  Because no matter how much you mean to them, friendship is only as strong as you let it be.  And you never let anything be. 

They always see and they always agree that the worst of your faults is way passed plenty.

It is a necessary evil, this name.  To write about pains in blue ink that leaves stains and hinders our brains what we use to feel sane.  

Sanity in the form of writing.  Because the world is nothing but a crumbled up piece of paper that you wrote your heart onto, thin lines and thick lines intersecting with names and with dates.  The world is nothing when you write, because it doesn't matter. When you write, you're the protagonist and the world is the struggle, trying to steer you into reduction and bleeding through truth life calls vivacious reading and grades matched 'exceeding' while your hearts sits sidelined like a child just pleading.  Let me go.  Let me play.  Because.

This life is a game.  It gives loopholes the blame, something we cannot tame, just one thing we have named.  

Writing.