"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.
"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?
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 to pretend otherwise? Do they know that you numb yourself to escape unrelenting pain?
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, because to acknowledge the truth would be 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."
I am beautiful, you say?
Thanks. You, too.
I am tired of being here.
Listening to all the things you have to say.
I am surpressed by all my fears.
Why don't you just leave?
Why do you keep coming back and hurting me?
This makes no sense.
You come into my life and say we have something special.
Then you tell me I am worth nothing and that you hate me?
That for me is intolerable.
I can't take any of this any more.
It just hurts too much to see you go.
It just hurts too much to sit next to you for three hours a day and not speak to you.
You laugh and joke around like any other day.
How can you keep your cool knowing that I am hurt?
That I am dying inside without you.
I need you here with me.
Without you I am nothing.
You do so much better without me.
But without you I am nothing.
I want to be appreciated
I want to be adored
I want to know that when I speak
My words are not ignored
I'm sick of how I'm treated
I'm sick of being put down
I'm sick of working hard all day
For nothing but a frown
I need to feel important
Maybe just this once
I need to know in someone's head
I'm more than just a dunce.
I know that I deserve more
I know I'm treated wrong
But I know no matter what they do
I'll continue to play along
I wish I could be better
I wish that they could see
All the things that I have worked for
And earned the right to be
Why can't it ever be enough
Why can't I just win
Why can't I feel like just this once
It was worth it to begin
Maybe things will never change
Maybe you just are what you are
It might just fate to know
That I will never be a star.
Searching through his bloodied clothes.
Searching for what is left.
With the rage, I cut into his chest.
I want his heart, for safety and comfort.
I rip it out and cradle it
I want it for others but I shall never reveal them now.
I love very bit of this heart.
You say I am a beast?
Look at you, I know you have done sins.
I am a dark being.
I love the screams and moans of pain and lust.
I just don't know what happened to that little girl you had once seen.
Now crying and imbalanced.
I have made a doll.
It has the heart that I cradled.
It looks just like him.
He talks to me.
Calls me "Little Dove"
At night 'he' comes alive and kisses me with those sharp teeth.
Killing me with his poisoned kiss.
That wretched smile drives me insane.
His a demon, bursting out if my chest.
Putting his bloody doll like hand on my pale white cheek.
I am paralyzed in time.
I love him ever so.
He says to me that me can make me a world of blood.
He makes me dream of haunted things.
Wounds, stitches, knives and more lovely,
I am happy that he can make my world come true.
I love that I am crazy, because he makes me feel better.
I love you, demon of my dreams.
He has left me.
Without no warning,
just left me in this tattered white dress stained with our blood.
He said he will come back.
He never returned.
I still hear his demotic voice at night yearning for his kiss.
Wanting to feel his warm body against mine.
Feeling his doll-ish hand caressing my body.
I awaken to a ear wrenching noise.
I found him dying on the ground
He said he loved this dark and damned side of me,
and to let go of this love that we had.
I went to the window and started sobbing.
Harder and harder.
No tears slid down my face.
I saw what he was dying for.
He had made me my world of hurt.
I love you Abaddon.
Thank you for loving me.
It seems as if the things you call us are who we truly are.
But that's not true.
We aren't just the failures.
Or the dropouts.
We aren't ruining society.
Society is ruining us.
It makes us believe that we're never good enough.
Or small enough.
Or pretty enough.
But the things they say don't define us.
You gave me a copy of your final art exam piece,
It's still stuck right there, you know,
On the wall beside my bed.
A scene of nature.
A gentle stream.
There's a mountain in the background, with a castle on top.
And me, in the foreground,
Oh, how lovely of you.
I remember, you took my photo in front of that big green tree.
In the woods by my house.
I wore only shorts and a vest, despite the cold weather.
(I remember the goosebumps.)
I couldn't wear much, you didn't want my clothing to be too visible;
You wanted to transform my body, into the trunk of a tree.
As if, I wore
only bark and moss.
Oh, but why, oh why?
When people saw my bare arms and shoulders, you told me that
they asked you, whether I was naked when you took it.
I remember, when you told me what they'd said,
I've never liked my face in that picture.
What is my eyebrow even doing?
And I've never quite been sure about the shape of my cheeks.
In fact, if anything,
I've only ever really liked my hand.
My wrist, quite thin,
and somehow my hand has a delicate look about it;
The fingers curved at the ends,
The cold had made them pink and soft.
Oh but, why, oh why, Darling?
Why of all things,
Did you have to make me a tree trunk?
Strong and sturdy.
With the moss,
And that other tree, the one that clung to me,
Twisting, growing around me.
There's nothing I can do now,
but stand here and watch you evolve.
Oh, you told me to get help baby, but what if I didn't want it?
To me, there's only ever been one solution.
But, you made me the tree trunk,
It's what you did.
And now you need me,
Now you grow from me.
Now you cling to me.
No, I cannot stir now.
For, I am a tree trunk, (I need to be strong and sturdy)
And now I know, only too well, that if ever I were to fall,
I would be bringing you down with me.
All things get better
In the end,
If it's not better,
It's not the end.
This is a new year
A new beginning
Things will change
And friends leave,
Life doesn't stop for
You're not just
You're going to have to
Make a choice.
You have to decide
What kind of man
You want to
Grow up to be.
Whoever that man is,
Good character or
It's going to
You either die a hero
Or live long enough
To see yourself become the
Leap tall buildings
With an outstretched hand;
They didn't wear
Boots and capes.
They bled, and they
Bruised, and their
Were as simple as
Who knew that
Even if their own lives
Were impossibly knotted,
They could untangle
And maybe that
One act could
Lead someone to
Perks of being a wallflower
Man of Steel
The Dark Knight
Sometimes I just sit here
at my desk,
on this computer
waiting to get a message back from you
I do nothing else,
I just sit here
'cause I want an answer to something
or I just want to imagine the sound of your voice
But I know you're off eating breakfast,
or reading a good book,
or outside, or drawing,
or playing piano
even though you might not say you're off to do any of those things
with everything you do
as I'm sitting here
waiting to hear back from you
I almost wish
you didn't have better things to do with your time
I hear a song
that brings me back
to those days not long ago
when I wasn't sure of the future
but the future I was thinking of then
and I'm ready for change
in a way
and although I'm sad
that these days are flying by
things are turning out
and I'm learning just to live
and to be happy
I am the places I've been
the things i've done
the thoughts I've thought
the mistakes I've made
I am discovering new places
doing new things
thinking new thoughts
and making new mistakes
I am becoming who I was meant to be
and that's what I'm afraid of