Once

I... am kind of stuck in a rut.  But I'm also far away from it.  It is really hard to explain.  So I'm just going to go for it.  This is a think it, come out kinda deal.  First off, my grandmother is dying.  I'm having a rough time with that.  I didn't know her as well as I'd like to, but she's my grandmother.  I'm more worried about my grandfather, though.  They've been married since they were nineteen; they've known each since they were fifteen.  And they were engaged by sixteen.  That's a long time, since they're both 83.  And my cousins in Texas were raised by them; my aunt, my mom's little sister, has never, in all her life (until she sent them to the nursing home) been more then a hallway away from them.
Next off is feeling like a third wheel.  It's a constant.  In so many ways I am way more mature then anyone else my age; and when I do act immature, usually everyone else is too.  I mean, I'm adaptable.  The situation changes, so do I.  But why am I always a third wheel?  I found that buddy with Samantha, but now... we're barely friends.  We've changed.  I'm still excitable and happy.  And I care about people, so at school... I'm set apart.  It's a sad, sad thing when I think that kindness is considered immature.
I've just been struggling.  Up, down, up, down.  Not even an hour ago I was considering breaking off with all my friends; then I wasn't.  Now... I am again.  Is it worth it? Yes, no, yes, no...  I want to be five again.  I want life to be simple and happy.  It was... once.
And here's a poem.

I sit by the window and watch the world,
It goes in a circle from green to red,
Then after red comes white,
Until there's green again,
Brighter then before.

I listen to their words,
Filled with hate and pain,
I wonder where love has gone,
All this is very strange.

These words are what they call advice;
Yet it feels like they critisize,
And I don't even know who "they" are.

All I miss I know I once had,
And all I want makes me sad.

This circle I'm in I'll never get out.

Yet there must be hope,
I cannot doubt.

Yet it's stuck,
Unable to open,
Where there was a door there isn't even a window.

I used to be happy,
Grateful and glad,
I knew what I had and I understood,
Now all I know is regret.

Misery needs no sympathy,
Though it loves its company,
Simple are the words I speak,
Complex yet is their meaning,
And all I want I had... once.