I know this girl.
It started off good. We were friends. I'd smile at her, and she'd smile back. It was simple. She would fascinate me. We'd touch fingertips, both having wide eyes and expressions of innocent amazement.
As I got older, I began to ignore her. I didn't seem to have time to see how she looked or what was going on. My life was busy, and I stopped caring.
But as I grew up, suddenly she was all that mattered. I'd seek her every chance I had. Before I went anywhere and after any adventure, I would always think of her, conspicuously glancing at the people around me to see if they had as well.
Time roughened and then came the crying. I couldn't bring myself to consider her. I'd turn her away. I couldn't bear to see her. When I was fine though, she was still all that mattered.
Sometime that year I began to insult her, calling her fat, and stupid, and many more maiming words. Most days the roles would slide between us. She would judge me as well, shaming my body and appearance, making sure I never felt comfortable in public. We hurt each other. We hurt ourselves.
I've always thought it would be simpler if she wasn't around. We have too much in common. I know how to perfectly shatter her. She points out all my flaws.
Sometime in my life though, I'm going to have to stop.
She shouldn't tell me that the outfits aren't acceptable. I shouldn't tell her that she won't ever be worth anything. We need to stop talking. We need to stop listening.
We need to be friends again.
Its hard having such a battle with your reflection. Mine is everywhere, haunting me. Sometimes she's beautiful. Sometimes I'd even say she's worth it. Sometimes I love her. Usually I don't. Usually all I see when I look at her is how much I've let myself down. Usually we aren't friends. Usually I don't even know this girl. Usually I hate her.
It's not good.
But I know this girl, and I know her strength. I know she how can overcome. I know someday it will all be good.
I know this girl.
And we can do it.
Jan 19, 2015
Jan 19, 2015 at 10:08 PM UTC
Parents always claim they don't have a favorite
Teachers always say they grade the kids the same
Coaches speak of statistics and facts
But in truth there's more they care about.
The view from the side is one of being alone
Yet in a group you know all too well
We all try to do our best and to show we are the better
But you're never better than the best and the favored
And you try so hard and I try so hard
But the picked isn't you, isn't me.
The view from the side is a grand view
Surveying the riches not given to us
Details the members don't see don't go unnoticed
A pat, an extra point, a bottle of lemonade.
No Mom, I didn't want that, give it to my sister instead
Professor please have me fail this class
Although I've done twice the work he has
Dear instructor, no my money is worth less than hers
Be better they scream but I'm already expected to fail
That is quite clear from the side.
Jan 11, 2014
Jan 11, 2014 at 1:17 AM UTC