"You are beautiful."
That is what they say,
and you reply,
"Thanks, you too."
A compliment, received and courteously relayed.
But what is really meant by this statement?
"You are beautiful."
Implies the speaker has identified that you exist—nothing out of the ordinary, but important nonetheless.
"You are beautiful."
Implies something much more—that the speaker not only acknowledges you, but understands you. It implies they have access to the real you, the one beneath the surface, and that they are capable of evaluating it. Notice that "You look beautiful." is not what has been said. No, what has been said is much more than that.
"You are beautiful."
This is their evaluation. Through the lens of their own perception, what they see when they observe who you are is best described by the word "beautiful". From my perspective, this can only be taken as a sign of deep appreciation, of recognition from one soul to another that on some level, they share the same substance.
Yet, knowing all of this raises a great suspicion. Do those who make this statement truly understand what they are saying? Do they mean it? Did they mean to say, instead, "You look beautiful."? Did they even mean anything at all? Did they give this compliment for the mere sake of giving it, or did they give it with the expectation of receiving something in return?
Do they know of the tension behind your smile? Do they know of the fear residing in the dark pools of your eyes? Do they know that the way you present yourself is often done in spite of how you truly feel?
Do they know, deeper still, of the tiny, yet unwavering flame that burns inside of you? Do they know that underneath the layers of frost that guard your soul is a core of warmth that craves release? Do they know that deep down, you don't believe the horrible things you tell yourself—you can't believe them—, but that it's much easier for you to pretend otherwise? Do they know that you numb yourself to escape unrelenting pain, often at the cost of escaping joy?
When they say you are beautiful, is it this you they speak of, or is it the you they see but do not understand?
Does their statement stand against who you are by trying to convince you of a self-image you do not have? Does it attempt to ignore, and by ignoring, negate the fact that you possess flaws, insecurities, and imperfections? Does it try desperately to project an image of perfection upon you, as if seeing the truth is too difficult?
Do they really think you are beautiful, or do they merely want to think it, blindly and without commitment?
Of the answers to those questions I am not certain. But, if I were one of those speakers who dared to make such a bold statement, I would be very careful. For if they are not truly ready to admit with full honesty that they understand exactly the meaning of what they are saying, then they do not deserve to say it.
And if they do not deserve to say it, then they ought to be careful of another thing, too. For if their compliment is not genuine, then the response they receive in return might not be genuine, either.
"Thanks. You, too."
Oh, really,
I am beautiful, you say?
Thanks. You, too.
i haven't thought about anything lately and i kinda like not thinking
i'm not thinking because i'm with you and when i'm with you
it's impossible for me to think
usually it's just a bunch of words jerking at the walls of my brain
one million mph
and sometimes we check our horoscopes
and most of the time we think together
so it's not only me thinking and not thinking
it's you
also
and sometimes you play the guitar for me
and sometimes i join in on my ukulele
sometimes we make up songs together
we sit in silence a lot
this is fine with me because i'm comfortable
being quiet with you
So we soldiered on
Because the lives we led were held on battlefields.
We trudged onward
But it felt like we were stuck there forever
Amidst the crossfire.
Dodging make believe bullets
That whistled sweet melodies to our ears.
We were camouflage.
Trekking undetected
Through the world.
But the war is over.
A few casualties still unaccounted for
On the bloodied floors.
Whatever happened to no man left behind?
Rippling outward till the waves stop.
Dropped from a 5ft 10" skyscraper with a plop.
Perfect circles in precession,
stretching into regression
The placidity is eerie
as it returns with no sign of it's companion
The next one cast did a flip flop
across the liquid table top.
Those ripples again.
As if this lake had a brain,
it feigns space to detain
the stone and share knowledge arcane.
The last one I decided to swap
I traded the lake's ripples for ones in my pocket.
Its a reason to return to the lake
The reason behind the pebble's wake
Scientifically, I know the make.
How is done, now why is at the stake.
,
I'm halfway to
A hundred
And I still don't
Know
Why
My soul was
Wound So
Tightly
Wound
Ed
Ted
Ted!
My teacher fought
Against the forces
Imagined, imagination-
-AL
Forces that swept the
Thin gossamer web-
Strand of
FOCUS!
Away.
I jerked awake to
Laughter, the
Unsatisfying kind of
Snickers,
Guffaws,
Kids just trying to survive
Childhood.
"I'm sorry,"
I half-sobbed,
"Would you please
Repeat the question?
I wasn't paying
Attention."
Kindness, sometimes, from
The beetled-brow
Of the series of
Stressed-out adults
Who had the distinct pleasure
Of having Teddy Scheck
Way down there on their
Class list.
Most often it was stern
Consternation. Irritation.
Sometimes, anger.
Shame is anything that
Makes you feel smaller
Than you really are.
Classrooms are battlefields.
Bullies are armies,
And I was at their un-
Mercy.
And time, which seemed to
Hold the infinite expanse
Of its boundless breath,
Exhaled slowly, the squeaky-
Balloon hiss of air escaping
A too-tight orifice.
And I'm swimming in the
Miasma of confusion, self-
Loathing, desperation, and
The incredibly strong urge
To dig for green gold
In my own nose.
Yep.
Welcome to my childhood.
Meanwhile,
OUT IN THE HALL...
Water/bathroom break.
Alphabetically, having "S"
Put me toward the end of the line,
But not "Zemichael" or
"Young, Rachel,"
or "David Woods"
And Dave Woods, whose
Eyes wandered behind
Coke-bottle glasses, and
Who whistled when he said
His 'Ws' was a kid
I could really relate to.
He got bullied 4th.
I was 3rd-most.
Two effeminate boys,
Scott and Mike,
Who played with dolls
With the girls, twirled
Jump ropes and chanted
Chants and had
High voices, and couldn't
Kick at all,
They got picked on an
Unfathomable measure
More than I did,
Although, strangely, they
Seemed much better equipped
To deal with it, or
Ignore it, or
(I don't know)
(And this killed me,
It really did)
When,
I took it all in my heart,
And head, and stomach,
And elbows, and picked
Nose, and bitten-off
Warts in 1st grade, and countless
Accidents and injuries and
Scrapes and bruises
By the plethora,
So that by 9:00 that night,
I was sobbing beneath
My pillow, trying
Not to make noise
In a household of 10.
And Mom, my sweet
Mom, would take me in
Her arms, and say
The most confusingly
Comforting words in
The whole wide world.
"I'm sorry, Teddy,"
She would cry, holding
Me so tightly I knew that
If lightning struck, or
A tornado blew in from
Kansas, no force on
Earth would seperate me
From my Mom's loving
Embrace.
"My sweet, wonderful,
Imaginative, creative,
Funny child,"
She would whisper, the
Only balm to sooth
The cuts from prissy girls'
Tongues that made
Me bunch my fists and
Run away in anger,
Or sometimes lash out
In fury;
The knuckle-rubs from
That asshole Randy, the
Class jock and class
Bully.
Mom's words of
Affirmation healed
The slashes and punctures
And lashes from the
Tongues and eyes and lips
And patience and compassion
Run dry like a well that
Has died of thirst.
But boy, did I have a
Whopping
Imagination.
I went to where
My dreams were stored
During the day.
And put them on
Like phantasmagorical
Clothes.
I rode my bike
Everywhere.
I took off my clothes
And swam in farm ponds.
I chased leopard frogs,
Ate questionable foods/plants;
And swung higher on
The swing than anybody
Else.
I was happy at times.
I could imitate just
About any sound
(Real or imagined).
I did the voices
From cartoons.
(And I STILL do 'em)
My sisters adored me.
I made people laugh
(Often by accident)
I occasionally sat
Still in church, taking in
Pictures stained colorfully
In glass frescoes.
I had a younger
Brother whom I was
Immensely proud of
And who loved me back
As best a brother
Could.
I had a roof, food,
Clean water, safety
From harm, freedom
To pray and worship,
Questionable bathing habits...
Birthday money
(For about an hour, anyway)
And love.
Wow.
I had more as a child
Than about 95% of
The entire world.
Maybe everything that
Happened to me
Brought me to this
Very
Point
In time.
Soul, wounded over time;
Creates a poem that,
Perhaps,
Can help some
Other wounded
Soul.
Somehow I always seem to forget that I am not your everything,
I am not your life's story
But a mere chapter.
Perhaps a only page or two.
And it's this that worries me, because what about all this time I'm invested in you?
The seeds I planted in your chest have bloomed,
But my fingers will not be the last to pick from them
And my hands will not be the last to graze across the meadows of your skin
Nor will my lips be the last to kiss away your imperfections.
I forget that eventually ,
you will find another girl.
One who's lovely and prettier than I,
One who can tell you how she feels
And who can make decisions.
Who doesn't hinder but help.
One who can give you everything you've ever wanted in the world,
Not just her heart.
And I can't help but feel that I'd be happy for her
Because if it wasn't me at least it would mean you were happy
And then maybe you'll feel at home in her embrace, more so than mine
Perhaps the words she'll speak to you will be beautiful flowers,
instead of the weeds that seem to fall from my mouth.
And I suppose that eventually you will invest your time in her, your future
And that's when I'll become your past,
The ink blots and coffee rings,
Along the old yellow papers,
Or maybe an old flower pressed between the pages,
I think I'd like that
Because maybe you'd remember me as something beautiful
And if not that at least you'd be happy
Today I will march forward with my head held high.
Today I will not be shunned for who I am.
Today I will stay happy no matter what.
Today I will be me and no one else.
Today I will try to live.
Today I will try to be positive.
Today...I will make it through the pain.
~Thank you~
So this month after my birthday i realised how much my friends matter to me and that i matter to them. They were always a true friend, i am thankfull to have such great and wonderfull people in my life. Always laughing through the fun and happy times together, making the best memories i have. I'm so gratefull to be able to call these people my friends. Thank you life for blessing me with these people. I will forever be thankfull i got a chance to meet and know them.
Wearily I rest my head upon your offered shoulder,
Always there to shelter me from the fears that make me colder.
Just as darkness closes in, persuading me "come hither",
There you are to rescue me, just before the shiver.
Your eyes dance
I can't tell if its because you're so high
On your dope
Or there's the slightest hope that i actually make you happy
I see you choke
On words
Because of the smoke
Or maybe there is the possibility my touch has brought a lump to your throat
You lick your lips
You are hungry
For another hit
Or could it be your just desiring to taste a bit of me
Your nostrils flare
Taking in the skunky hot air
Or what if you just caught in the wind my strawberry scented hair
Whatever it is that makes your eyes light up and you face emerge with delight
I am thankful
You're never more beautiful than when you are so perfectly in paradise
