In a way, I try to avoid telling people items about me for as long as I can. They can get all they want out of just looking at me, can’t they? If they have eyes in their head and a brain in their skull they can read my face to their own satisfaction. I’m “that brown-skinned girl whose kinda chubby and extremely short.” And from that information, I’m sure they can stereotype their way into my personality – “pretty crazy.” I doubt they’ll ever really get to the point.
You’re going to try to guess right here; you’re going to ask “what is the point?” in an attempt to coax it out of me. Sorry. Maybe, instead of asking, you can riddle me this. If I told you a story, would that make me a storyteller? A writer? An orator of momentous proportions? Let’s try it and see.
When I was in kindergarten, I learned that souls can collide. That best friends can really be more than that; they can feel what you’re feeling across state lines. They can hand you all the love in the world – all the love that ever wanted you.
When I was in seventh grade, I learned that I was fat and ugly. I learned that intellectual prowess and growing self-determination could all be yanked out by that one word – “weird.” You could snatch it from my head and leave me a patch of nothing, sprouting skin and blood. I learned those superficial terms we use to decide our leaders; love was only for the movies.
When I was in tenth grade, I learned to worm through space. I could struggle to replace my prison with flower fields, where “weird” turned to “crazy” and people accepted it. I learned that a terrible neediness had fallen over my entire world, and that I could not kick it away like any stray dog. I learned that eyes will be eyes and no one can tell people to see further in.
In twelfth grade, I am still learning. That “selfish” is not always a bad word and that “selfless” is not always good. I am learning to love me more.
I avoid telling people about me until they can feel it out for themselves. They have to realize that the shell is just a package, that the heart is more than muscle. Full disclosure. At that point, the points we’re making glow together.
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