Novelas y relatos de Ponyboy Thoughts About Inner Self

Silence flooded the room again — sharp, deliberate, and oddly satisfying. I leaned back in my chair, letting my eyes drift to the window. The city sprawled endlessly below, clean lines and chaos, the world carrying on as if nothing had happened. Nina’s anger, her accusations, her pity — they all rolled off me like rain. Because deep down, she was wrong. She thought she knew me — the boy who once tried to be good, the son who wanted to please his father, the man who tried to do the right thing. But that version of me had died years ago.

He justified his actions in his mind, refusing to acknowledge the pain he had caused or the repercussions of his choices. "I was never given a fair chance," he continued, his inner dialogue a mix of resentment and a sense of vindication. "They pushed me away, never accepted me... I had no choice but to take what should have been mine." Despite the gravity of his circumstances, there was a resolute refusal to confront the consequences of his actions. Ejay's self-judgment, shrouded in bitterness and a skewed sense of justification, shielded him from the deeper truth—an inability to recognize the impact of his decisions on others or to accept accountability.

And no speech could fully undo that bruise, or ease the realization that i let myself down, that little girl that vowed never to let anyone make a fool of herself. Madison hugged me tightly. “Don’t shrink,” she whispered. Antone squeezed my shoulder. “You were always the storm,” he said. “Don’t turn into the rain.” I smiled faintly. But their words lingered. On the ride back, helmet in hand, I didn’t start the motorcycle immediately. I sat there. Thinking. Madison was right. I had changed. Part of it was adulthood. Responsibility. Legacy. Pressure. But another part… I had lost something.

Each and every time I have to pretend that I agree with this constrictions I find it hard to breathe, even had several panic attacks because of this. Before even gaining any self realization, I had deemed these thoughts all impure, seen them as the works of the devil trying to sway me from the righteous in path but after sneaking into the library and talking with a few new friends. Ones papa wouldn’t approve of I realize it’s just me gaining my own voice. Its okay for children to have different aspirations from their parents and I really don’t want to be this prude they are making me out to be but yet I still can’t run from it or escape it.

Please don’t say what I think you’re about to say, I think to myself, because I won’t be able to say no… “I-I need you on the next mission, Bronx.” He says. He stands up straight and puts his hands out to the sides then on his hips, looking down at the floor, like he's disappointed in himself. He shakes his head as he speaks to the floor. It almost seems like he is talking to himself, not me. “I know you can’t. I know it. It is not good for anyone. Not your body or your mind. It’s not good for Saint. It's just no good, but I don’t know what else to do.” “Reggie, I-”

Crayvin When I manage to drag myself off of the pavement and into my house, Piggy is sitting in the foyer with droopy, sad eyes. A rush of guilt hits me like a damned truck, causing me to not be able to see clearly. A sea of thoughts floods my mind. I want approval. Acceptance. Forgiveness. I want her to see that I can, in fact, be a good guy. I don't want her to think I am some kind of monster that she has to starve herself to be with.

I scurried around the next bend and tried to remember which way I'd come through the first time. "I've always been this way. My experiments have kept me company since I was twelve years old. No one understood me. No one bothered to reach out. To try to befriend me. If someone had, I wouldn't be like this. It's society's fault for everything that I've done. It made me do it." He choked on a sobbing breath. I struggled not to feel sorry for the little boy he'd been. But even at twelve, he'd known right from wrong. He'd chosen wrong.

I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t ask to be seen. I didn’t ask to be wanted. I didn’t ask— I didn’t— He dropped the pen. Sat back. Covered his face with both hands. Everything inside him was electric. Burning. Wrong. He felt like his thoughts were no longer thoughts — just noise with grammar. He picked up the pen again. Wrote, slowly, shaking: I think I want to be seen. I think that’s the problem. Then below that: I think I want to be touched.

What does this creep really want from me? “Penny for your thoughts?” Jane muttered when I was once again lost in my thoughts. I breathed out heavily and closed my eyes. This is the thing I hate about myself. I think a lot, I rack my brain about things that I couldn’t find the answers. Although I tried to act like I don’t care, still the thoughts linger inside my head, fucking me up again and again, and I know very well that it will just stop once I do something about it. Fuck it. For my peace of mind, I need to do something that was never part of my plan. I need to see Carmine. Well, shit really happens and you just have to deal with it.

I don't know…maybe I just wanted it to be real. It wasn't hard to know that the the main character was obviously a self insert on Leon's part. I wasn't disgusted or disappointed in him. Quite the opposite actuallly. I was captivated. He had a whole, depraved internal life, a landscape of desire that had nothing to do with the perfect Pastor’s son everyone else saw. And I was like that too. “I thought you'd be at school,” I finally said, my voice smooth, masking the storm in my head.