What if I told you My brain is only alive
When it is on fire
My eyes are only bright
When they are drowning
Tears watering the messy
Entanglement of blue roots
Beneath my translucent
Eyelashes trapped between the other
Sealing my lids shut
A small bud protecting me
Whilst also preventing me from blossoming
You soar so high you’re bound to crash and burn
Yet when you do so
You don’t scream
You ignite and twist, dancing in the flames as the wind rushes past you, an elegant spectacle, fizzled to a crisp so small you never do quite hit the ground but float, dust in the air
I am not a candle light
Blown out with a single gasp or wheeze of the wind
I am a supernova
You can only see 1/8 of an iceberg above the water
Kind of like a person
If you get to know even 2/8 of a person you’re lucky, and know them better than most
But I’m not an iceberg.
I’m not deep or impressive or sparkling pure and beautiful. Im a little life boat, carrying a lone survivor of the shipwreck, limp and frail and shivering. I drift through the water, hoping to find land, but heading in no direction in particular.
I crashed into you by accident and now I’m sinking, my fragile cargo at wits end. My sides are scratched and broken, yet I still feel more stable in this scenario than I did when I was adrift. Despite the fact that I am drowning, I am glad I found something in this vast ocean.
[ Character who constantly changes the furniture in their room, they are all arranged slightly off the wall to give the impression that they may move at any time, as if the furniture itself were alive. Not on the wall suggests non uniform, that they don’t have a fixed position. Represents the idea that nothing is temporary and shows that the character is quite obsessed with this mindset. ]
“Do you know why my room is never the same? Why I paint my nails different colours every week? Why I notice these stupid little things and make myself smile at the sky and sing the same stupid songs over and over again when the conversation dies and silence comes rolling in? Distractions. All of them. I like to keep myself busy because I have a tendency to overthink. Sometimes I’ll leave my phone at home during the day to charge because I prioritise having my phone at night so I can listen to music because if I don’t have that then I’ll become engulfed in my own mind and I don’t know if I can handle that.
Many people wonder how it is I’m able to dance in the rain but most of the time it’s just because I keep myself too busy dancing to notice the rain in the first place.
‘Ignorance is bliss’ no it’s not. It’s exhausting. I can never stay still. You think I’m happy like this? I’ve tricked you all, including myself, to believe that yes, I am. But really I’m just drugged up on a sensory overload. I’m not alive. I’m exploding. People from a distance think I’m beautiful, like a firework, but really I’m burning up and will soon fizzle and fade out. I’m on fire. And it burns.”
For so long now I feel like I’ve been asleep. People tell me I’m a dreamer, with my head in the sand, preaching equality, too good to be true.
And I believe them. How could a world so cruel ever become the Utopia that so many dream of?
But recently I have realised that the only reason I can even see this utopia is because of perspective. I have trained my mind in a way others haven’t; I truly understand the phrase ‘beauty is in the eye of the beholder’ and I have seen beauty in everything.
So no, I don’t think my head is in the sand. I think my head is in the right place, above social pressures and guidelines which have been forced on me since birth. It’s all perspective, and those who draw out barriers between the good and the ugly are the ones who need to wake up. They are the ones who’s minds have been dulled by the millennia of racism, sexism, ageism and ableism. They are the ones who have their head in the sand.
My conclusion is
That I’m simply more pretty
With my face hidden