"you'll laugh at me a lot and a lot."
"no, i won't."
"you'll laugh at me."
"no, i won't."
"you'll just laugh."
"no, i really won't."
"well, i see her every day and every night. she's got notebook-paper eyes where you can read between the lines and find out the name of everyone who's ever hurt her. they're a blue, a deep, shameless blue, like yours. she's got nothing on her back but broken skin particles and nothing on her cheeks but black tears. she cries salt[water and inhales loneliness. she sleeps with herself every night and no one else. her skin isn't perfect. her nose is too flat. she's nothing like those other girls."
"and what about those other girls?"
"they're spending pennies on greener eyes and thinner waists. they're suffocating in a beautiful society. they're painting over the face they were given with black and pink because they want cute boys with freckled noses to notice them. and they're just beautiful. they always look beautiful."
"but what about the lonely girl? what is she?"
"she's collecting promises in paper bags to keep track of which are broken and which are kept. she's living off of tear-stained pillows and photo-editing programs. her arms are covered in skin as thin as paper and she struggles to love that she's in it. she doesn't hug anyone, and i wonder if it's because she doesn't like it or just because there's no one to hug. there's no one like her."
"and what's she like?"
"she's just full of nothing. she's just a girl with hair and a mouth and feet."
"i bet she's beautiful."
"oh, she is. but she'll never know."
"well, what are you?"
"what?"
"are you beautiful?"
"i'm just folds of dead cells pieced together and called a human. i've got two sockets for two brown balls and eyelashes that have a density of 1.0. there's a bony stick of flesh jutting out the middle of my face and two thin, pink bands pressed together underneath. i have a small tube to hold up my head and and a pair of pale shoulder-pads protected by the skin i call mine. my arms are thin and i have ten red-knuckled fingers with chewed off flaps of transparent construction paper sticking out of the ends. i am human, i am a girl, i am this."
"so you're like the lonely girl."
"only in a blue-eyed perspective."
"no, i won't."
"you'll laugh at me."
"no, i won't."
"you'll just laugh."
"no, i really won't."
"well, i see her every day and every night. she's got notebook-paper eyes where you can read between the lines and find out the name of everyone who's ever hurt her. they're a blue, a deep, shameless blue, like yours. she's got nothing on her back but broken skin particles and nothing on her cheeks but black tears. she cries salt[water and inhales loneliness. she sleeps with herself every night and no one else. her skin isn't perfect. her nose is too flat. she's nothing like those other girls."
"and what about those other girls?"
"they're spending pennies on greener eyes and thinner waists. they're suffocating in a beautiful society. they're painting over the face they were given with black and pink because they want cute boys with freckled noses to notice them. and they're just beautiful. they always look beautiful."
"but what about the lonely girl? what is she?"
"she's collecting promises in paper bags to keep track of which are broken and which are kept. she's living off of tear-stained pillows and photo-editing programs. her arms are covered in skin as thin as paper and she struggles to love that she's in it. she doesn't hug anyone, and i wonder if it's because she doesn't like it or just because there's no one to hug. there's no one like her."
"and what's she like?"
"she's just full of nothing. she's just a girl with hair and a mouth and feet."
"i bet she's beautiful."
"oh, she is. but she'll never know."
"well, what are you?"
"what?"
"are you beautiful?"
"i'm just folds of dead cells pieced together and called a human. i've got two sockets for two brown balls and eyelashes that have a density of 1.0. there's a bony stick of flesh jutting out the middle of my face and two thin, pink bands pressed together underneath. i have a small tube to hold up my head and and a pair of pale shoulder-pads protected by the skin i call mine. my arms are thin and i have ten red-knuckled fingers with chewed off flaps of transparent construction paper sticking out of the ends. i am human, i am a girl, i am this."
"so you're like the lonely girl."
"only in a blue-eyed perspective."
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not sure about the title.
this is a draft for a reflections contest. the subject was "beauty is...". i hope i captured that alright. i didn't want to write specifically about something beautiful, like sunsets and moonlight. i just think that everyone is beautiful. and i just think there's a lot of people out there that will never believe that.
i know this isn't a clear piece, but i hate being clear. i just hope whoever reads it will take the time to really think about what i mean by this.
[also, if you're wondering why salt[water has to be broken up, it's because it bleeps out the middle for some reason. so yeah.]
