Disclaimer: I own my pretty words. es todo.


I realized today that I'm human. I don't want you to roll your eyes at me, muttering under your breath at how obvious the fact is that I just stated. I don't want you to lift your eyebrows and sneer at me. I don't even want you to comment on my profound thinking. All I want you to do is listen. Listen to my pleas, my hollow words of how 'I'm fine, I'm perfect, I'm whole'. Just listen to me for one second. I'm screaming out to you, but you can't hear me above the world's white noise. I'm so insignificant. You don't realize this, you don't try to look deeper into my eyes to see the pain, the anguish. You take my word, never thinking twice. All I ask is for that second glance.

I'm human, I get hurt. I feel, I cry.

I cried today. It's been quite a long time since I last cried. I didn't cry for myself, in retrospect, I cried for all the other people out there who are just like me. Stuck and alone. Surrounded by people who don't care enough to listen, to see. To notice the trivial matters of the heart.

All I'm asking is to be seen as a person, a human. As someone who needs to be loved, held, spoken to with your whole heart. The simple phrase "how are you?" is ridiculous and an outright oxy-moron. If you even cared, you'd sit the person down, look into their eyes and ask them how they truly are. A passing question that leads to false answers. What's the point? It builds up pain subconsciously.

I cried today for all I've been through in my short life. When I look back on it, I seem so minuscule. Never accounting for a moment where I truly felt loved. It's a sad existence when you can only remember one small experience when you felt a person's love for you.

I used to push it all away, throw the pain to the swirling wind. What's in the past, is forever in the past. End point. Period. Done. But far from over. Each time I'm neglected, over-looked, ridiculed, it tears at my heart, shredding it slowly the only way it knows how. I push it away, reviling for a bit in the emotional cessition. But the pushing just makes it worse, because at night, it always comes back to haunt me.

When I was eight, I felt that one experience of love. My mother was getting ready for another one of her affulent dates. Smearing crimson lipstick onto her puckered lips. Squinting her green eyes into the mirror to see the precise route her ebony eyeliner would take. She had a string of pearls around her neck, accenting her low cut black dress and hundreds of freckles. Her blond hair was pinned up extravagantly, the silver butterfly clip glinting in our chintzy, old lamp light. She'd smacked her lips together, emitting a popping sound I enjoyed making myself when I was alone. She was so beautiful, surrounded by an array of delicate silver containers full of antique jewelry, eye liners, blushes, lipsticks. It was the epitome of her.

I'd come into her room when she was working at the diner and obsess over my mother's prized possessions. Most of the time, I felt they meant more to her than I did. In fact, I don't even have to lie to myself about that anymore— it's the undeniable truth.

I would arrange her lipsticks, clean the powdery rose dust from the oak bureau, imagining it was my one way ticket to Never Never Land. I'd finger her jewels, the faux rings, the heavy earrings, and intoxicating glass necklaces that seemed to clash with every one of mother's second hand dresses. I'd run her turtle shell brush through my auburn hair, sending tingles up my arms and down my legs.

She never knew how much I loved her. I envied her in a way I can't even explain. I knew of her sinful life, her uncaring habits, but yet, I found her flawless in my childish eyes.

And I overwhelmed myself with her scents, hoping that someday, she'd hug me and fulfill my need for her touch. To breathe into her blouse and smell her delicious rose perfume as her arms held me close. I was a lonesome child whose dream was simple. Love.

She'd begun to apply her rosy blush that night with one of her lusty brushes. The bristles were huge, flexible, soft. I'd run them across my face, grinning in the mirror at the delicate way they flowed over my flushed cheeks.

Suddenly, that night as I watched my mother, she had reached over and slathered the blush onto my cheeks, making them as rosy as hers. I grinned up at her, awe and veneration in my big green eyes.

She smiled at me that night, her brush in hand, head tilted to the side. It was like she was analyzing me; her daughter. I felt her absolute love for me. Every ounce of my body was light. Had you given me some fairy dust, I would have flown.

Then she left without so much as a goodbye. Forever.

Today I feel insecure. I feel unwanted, unloved. Invisible. I know I'm wallowing in self pity here, but every person must be able to achieve some amount of 'self pity time' once they reach a certain age, don't they? That was ten years ago. I needed time to think it through. Wonder where she went, if she even thought of what she was leaving behind. I was just a liability to her, I know that now. A liability she dropped easily.

Today I learned that I was human. I learned that being human has two sides. A good and an evil. Being human gives you the claim to all human emotions. The good favorably over the bad. I realized that I was done with self pity. With pushing my sorrows away, with hiding under my resilient smile. Behind that walls that rose each time I feared someone was out to hurt me. I lived beind those walls, and when I finally had the desire and strength to let them fall it was as if a butterfly had emerged. I could hold my head high. I could see the world again. I was renewed.

I realized that as a human I was entitled to live with love, not just wonder what it would be like to have it. Grasp it.

He helped me see all that. He didn't even have to open his mouth. His arms, his eyes, they showed me his soul. His deep brown eyes radiated the concern that I needed.

His 'how are you' was the most genuine thing I've ever heard in my entire life. His eyes never flickered away from his face as he said the phrase. His black hair fell onto his forehead elegantly as he looked down at me. At my crumpled position on the floor, tears streaming down my cheeks. My eyes unnaturally green from the red raw that encompassed them. I was in my most servile state.

I don't know how he found me. I haven't asked, haven't found the need. He's here now, holding me close.

I'm no longer wallowing in self pity, rather I'm lamenting my unbearable luck. The apothegm, "There surely is in human nature an inherent propensity to extract all the good out of all the evil," has been justified here in this case. I relented to my sorrows and in turn, I found that one person in all this green earth that took the moment to look deeper.

Today I learned that being human means encapsulating the realms of human emotions. That love really does exist and it's not some fairy tale enhanced fiction. It's almost a tangible object that just remains out of your reach until you finally give up on it. Where then it is released from it's prison and given to you rightfully. The greatest things in this world are love and happiness and I tried to hard to achieve them.

Who knew I had to give up my foolish passions and facade of a perfect life. To forfeit my so-called happiness. I threw it to the wind, all my walls that kept the inner me concealed. When I looked up after the walls fell, it was like a miraculous sunrise.

Beauty like I had never seen it before. With tears running down my cheeks, smearing my ebony mascara, I found truth. I found beauty. I found humanity.

I found love.


Review, would ya? This took pain to write.