I went through the motions of life, until I found a boy who intrigued me. He stirred the senses, captivating me whenever he entered the room. And I thought I knew the formula to make him feel the same. The project of my life; to play into the senses of this man.
And I parrot his thoughts and his frivolities, praying that he might speak of my wisdom.
And I put on a flashy show, painting my face, and adorning my body, so that he might see me.
And I sing, and I laugh, and I joke, talking incessantly, so that he might hear my longing for him.
And I fall into him, and he falls into me, feeling each other’s skin, hoping to have him feel for me from within.
After all these are done, I look in the mirror, and I see no one that I love. She is a Frankenstein‘s monster of a girl. She is pieced together clumsily, with parts that are foreign and grotesque. She is a creator of a being that she thought she would love, but she found she detested. And I can’t look at the mirror anymore.
And when I can’t speak a word, I write a thousand to make up for it.
And when I can’t see a thing, I cry to wash my eyes clean.
And when I can’t hear a sound, I smash the cymbals until the truth rings in my ears.
And when I can’t feel my skin, I step into the ocean until I start to drown.
I let myself sink into the labyrinth of my emotion, until every nerve is active.
My words won’t stop ripping through my lips through my screams, from the terror I am walking through.
My tears won’t stop flowing even after my eyes are very well clear, and I can see every mistake that I’ve made.
My ears won’t block out even the faintest whisper of the truth, as it echoes over and over and over in the room of my self conscious.
And I wish to be able to crawl out of my skin, so that I don’t have to feel the pain of living a lie.
So this is what it tastes like?
This is the taste of self realization; a bitter sweet pain. For although I suffer now in my understanding of losing myself, bitter in my lost, I can follow my senses back to the sweet girl I want to be again.