Nice is Dead

Well, ladies and gentlemen, I've officially come to a conclusion that being described as nice is the most banal, annoying thing in the world. It's worse than a curse word. At least a curse word brings to mind some strong characteristics of a personality, rather than some fly-on-the-wall type person who sits in the background and doesn't say much.

Nice is vanilla. Boring. Nice is a word used as a description for people who don't really make an impact. Mediocre. I suppose there's nothing wrong being mediocre. But for me, mediocrity is not something to be striven for. Nice is the curse of the uninspired. According to Greg, who I had this rather interesting discussion with, mediocrity is for the unfulfilled. Or something like that.

I am a person of strong emotions. I love passionately. But with that comes the capacity to hate, which I discovered suddenly yesterday. A conversation I had with a person I truly loved suddenly took a sudden shift. I was giving my frustrated opinion about a situation the individual was involved in. Apparently my opinions were taken rather badly, and the individual then proceeded to launch a rather personal attack on myself.

Most times, I wouldn't have taken things to heart. However, the discussion had been about relationships and I am currently going through a case of heartbreak, should one put it that way. Rarely do I lose control over my emotions nowadays. But for the first time in ages, I was seized by blind rage. Disappointment. Emotion so strong I barely realised tears were streaming down my face. That made me so irrational I immediately blocked the person off my MSN list and proceeded to write a 'curse-word-a-minute' piece of literature.

For one moment, I felt blinding hate. And it scared me. Scared me because I almost enjoyed myself. Tasting that darkness. Felt myself lose control. And I caught a glimpse of what I could really be capable of. I now know. And I almost fear.

I want to walk among the stars

To hear their song reverberate

Resonante,

Pulse through my veins,

As I embrace my fate.

I want to soar up high,

With the world at me feet,

To grasp everything within my reach.

I don't want the mundane,

The mild,

The meek,

Of higher pleasures oft do I seek.

Something beyond my external eye,

Eluding my grasp everytime I try.

I want to work magic,

To dabble in the mystical,

I want to blaze my trail through life,

Like a shooting star,

Never follow another's;

Never that.