When I look into the mirror,
I cannot help but do so with a tense kind of anticipation.
My nerves gush forth in waves of intense trepidation,
a salt water sea filling my lungs with every breath I take, until I swear
I will burst.
Every time I catch a glimpse of my face,
I cannot help the surge of disappointment that surfaces once more
when I see
the girl I don’t want to see.
Why is the girl in the mirror
never who I want her to be?
I wish for a soul that’s content
and a face that never lies.
I want wings feathered with trust and fear and love,
wings willing to provide comfort
to a girl who’s only ever learned to fall.
But when the wind falters once more beneath my wings,
when your words,
no longer cushion my bones,
who do I turn to when I fall
I’m broken by the one who pieces together every frail shard of my existence,
distorted by the one who has stared into
crooked lines and
sharp edges and understood my truth.
why am I always the second choice to my other half,
the Plan B to your grand scheme?
Tell me, why are the rivers that flow down my cheeks
just another part of your picturesque little scene?
Something you shift aside
as though it’s got nothing to do with you?
Feather by feather,
you pluck my wings and gift them to another,
twist my words until they serve
only to tear my skin,
draw blood from my smiles,
drip hate from my tongue.
why is the girl in the mirror weeping?
Why is she never
who I want her to be?
Ah, poetry. Another way in which I can display the vast inadequacy of my soul to the world. To be completely honest, poetry frightens me terribly. I’m scared that my intentions will surface from underneath the pretty words and pictures, that somehow, they will manage to escape from my careful spacing and secretive format to bare their teeth. The thing is, however, I want to be 100% real with the people around me, even if it’s to my own detriment.
Which brings us to this explanation behind my attempt at poetry.
First things first- the concept of mirrors and reflections. My feelings towards my appearance, and myself in general, tend to fit into one of two categories.
Some days, I wake up and feel like an utter blessing to the whole entirety of a universe that just can’t contain the vast extent of my greatness. I love my appearance, my personality, my voice, my smile, every single little thing I bring to the table of the universe.
Days like these, I want to grace everyone with the most unapologetic, over-excitable version of myself I can possibly be.
Days like these, I can’t help but want to love and understand and laugh with every individual I have the pleasure of meeting.
Days like these, I want to impress upon the world the image of a girl who smiles much too often and laughs a bit too much and can’t take a compliment for the life of her, before she fades from its fickle sight and is forgotten once more.
God, I love those days.
Now that you’re probably convinced I’m a narcissist, let’s turn our gaze towards the darker side of my numbered days, punctuated by the cruel casualties crashing down in callous waves all around me. Some days, I swear I’m just a few seconds away from the insanity that is understanding my reality.
On these days, I see the vast myriad of flaws that just won’t get off my back, that constantly nag at the back of my mind and tint my eyes with poisonous shades of hate no tears can wash away.
I am incompetent.
Waste of space.
I am not who I want to be.
And I’m not special in feeling this way, in thinking that perhaps everyone would be better off without the girl who smiles so much it’s probably fake and laughs because she pretends to be happy and can’t take a compliment for the life of her because maybe
Some days and most nights, I wonder if perhaps the world would be better off forgetting this girl as fast as it possibly can and save her the pain she feels when she is confronted by waves of her own inadequacy. I’m afraid I won’t be able to save myself in time. I’m scared my bones will shatter when the burden of lightening them becomes too much for a heavy heart and clumsy fingers. I am not enough for anybody, not my family or my friends; no matter how much of myself I give and how much you take, we’re all still empty. Hollow. Useless. I hold Heaven inside of me, so why can I only feel my inner Hell?
God, I’m afraid to fall. I can’t stand the thought of my wings burning. So I think I might hide instead.
I am an individual composed of layer upon layer of excuses, hiding in my own self-deprecation, because maybe if I tell myself all these horrible things on a regular basis, it won’t hurt so much when it’s true. If I screw up, I can just blame it on my laziness, or my lack of time management, or the fact that I slept late, and I wouldn’t have to bend under the weight of more blame; my excuses would do it for me. If I call myself all these things that aren’t always true, I can prove myself- and everyone else that underestimated me- wrong. I distorted myself because I didn’t want to confront myself. I placed myself second in almost everything, be it my relationship with my family, friends, or myself, so I didn’t have to come to terms with the fact that I’m not who I want to be. I became an expendable resource, when all I wanted was for someone to remember me, even if it was just a little.
Life lesson, guys: ignoring yourself doesn’t do anything except make your issues more prominent.
Pushing myself further back into some vacant corner of my mind served only to fuel my hurt. I lash out at family members because I can’t keep it bottled in anymore, because some days, nothing makes sense except vocalizing my hurt.
I’m still trying to work on realizing that sometimes, it’s okay to feel less than.
What’s not okay is putting yourself down because you think you’re not good enough. Bottling up all your emotions and unleashing them on some unsuspecting soul, because everyone’s got issues. Humanity’s ability to struggle and survive is its saving grace. It’s not okay to stop trying, because a human that stops developing, growing, feeling, being, is no better than a corpse. I may not be good enough right now, but that doesn’t mean I can’t be. Everyone, every single individual on the face of this planet, has the potential to be better.
Even Trump. I think.
I can change and improve both myself and how I perceive myself. It’ll take time and effort, so I’ll put it to good use while I can. It’ll be hard, but so is everything worth fighting for.
I am worth fighting for, and so is every individual I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting. Change happens the moment you realize that. It happens now. So instead of apologizing for the lengthy blog post like I usually would, I want to thank you. Thank you for taking the time to get to know me a bit better, and for accepting me into the AP community, and for being people I can trust. My idea of fun now is to scroll through the blog and read and absorb all the wisdom I can from souls who are trying to find their way; thank you for that. Thank you for being amazing, beautiful individuals and for being people I can fight for.
Thank you more than words can ever convey.