Why do you think that you have to keep pretending that you know what you are doing?
What do you want to accomplish?
Why do you live by expectations that are so high that they seem unreachable?
Why do you keep bothering yourself with silly things like living according to stupid social "rules"?
Please.
Deep down everyone is the same. Don't misunderstand me. I don't mean that we are all silvery robots with monotone voice tones and reboot buttons.
I just want you to know that nobody is what they appear to be. We, modern people, have an image for everyone to see that has absolutely nothing to do with us. So if you thing you are the only person in the world that gets what you are going through (whatever it is) you are wrong. Everyone struggles with their lives. They keep that barrier up for no one to see their true selves so they can't be hurt, judged or laughed at. They (why do I keep writing like I'm not one of them, of you?) hide from the world cause once one sees their true colors they are vulnerable. You open up and you let people cause you pain (and  happiness, lets not forget. But I'm I no mood for optimism right now. Sorry positive people!)
So, would you rather tear your chest open for people to toss your heart around as if it were a football, or are you going to keep it in a tightly locked up box, so you can be miserable by yourself? The truth is, guys, life gives you no options. I decided to give the nice-to-meet-you game a try and well... I ended up writing this so you can just assume that it didn't end up well, and I'm only fifteen. ******* FIFTEEN. So, yeah, it hit me now. The truth. You can't live without pain. What you can actually choose is who causes that pain.
I don't deal with this very well and I'm torn, yeah, but I'll get over it eventually. Life *****, sometimes. But other times it's so wonderful that it lifts your feet of the ground, and you feel like you are flying high above it all in the deep blue sky. (No, I don't do drugs or anything).
Here's what I think: Stuck your tongue out if you feel like it, have fun at times and others be sad (everyone has to be sad every once in a while to rest from all that happiness, ya know?) and be yourself except you are some kind of maniac ninja assassin.

I used to want poems, roses and someone
to profess their undying love for me on Valentine's day,
because I thought that was the very definition
of romance.
Some grand gesture
to sweep me off of my feet right towards the sunset,
but that's stupid, isn't it?
**** one sided affection from people who admire me from afar,
but have never once tried to speak to me
before this "holiday of love".
***** those who fell in love with their idea,
society's projection of me
rather than actually falling in love with me.
Because that isn't what love is.
I'm not some perfect girl with a sweet smile
who says hello to you in the hallways,
who will marry you and be home in time for dinner, always.
I was blessed with beauty, passion, rage
and sometimes even a little promiscuity.
You admire from a distance the sugary girl you meet,
but have no clue of the ***** in the sheets.
That's okay,
those parts of my personality are by no means meant
for everyone to know,
I doubt you would love me twice as much
if you were lucky enough to get to know twice as much about me.
None of this is romantic, no part of it is loving.
Come to me with a silly joke
and an offer of a good time,
forget everlasting love and growing up too fast.
There is a reason everyone is so reminiscent of their youth.

there sits Father Time
drinking a 50 year old scotch,
neat.
His compatriots
Sister Life and her Brother Death
sit close by,
the Sister sipping *** on the Beach
while Brother blows bubbles in his Shiraz.
All served at the cosmic bar by The Great Spirit
nursing a big 'ol Long Island Iced Tea.

I'm thinking of creating my next masterpiece,
Brother Death said.

"Maybe this time, don't use a bucket of paint for just one blade of grass,"
Father Time chuckled.

Sister Life spun around
and round on her spinny stool for several decades
until she hopped up atop the bar, proclaiming in French,
I don't make the best hexadecimal frittatas in the seventh dimension for nothing!  

Suddenly all brought their glasses together in a supernova clink
as they cheered
"May we continue to move forwards in the trajectory to wherever the hell we're going!"

I was sitting weeping on my verandah
As the sun went down over the blue, blue sea.
I thought: what is the point of clinging to life
When there's nothing worth anything for me?

And then I saw a little kitten, ill and weak,
And I heard its pathetic little cries for food;
I bent down to give it a tasty piece of fish
And it sunk its fangs into my hand real good.

I was lying in bed last night staring up

at the stars speckling the celestial indigo heavens

like glittery sprinkles across a birthday cake

and I thought to myself:

Where the hell is the ceiling?

yesterday i was wondering where the sun went…
then it dawned on me.

My gift wrapping skills
Are still quite mediocre
I'd really rather not...

When your words are placed with precision
And your thoughts are all in line
When there's the perfect analogy in your speech
He's not there to listen, that's the time.

When your words come out in a jumble
And you laugh 'till you're in tears
When you tell stupid jokes and nobody but he laughs
That's the day that he appears.

Being pressed for time remaining
College days are going to coming
Will be a race against time
Will be a case to save time
Having no time in our hands
Will be a cause of frustration among friends!

Of being compete to beat the clock
Will be ever seeking to make good time for joke
And the moment losing track of time will be a case
But will be fine brings up shine to everyone face
Doing right things at high times
Will be a move to keep up times!!