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In the eyes

Adriel / December 1, 2013

I’m pretty sure
people would treat me nicer
if the rumors
were cleared up

I’m quite certain
most people have
a distorted impression
of me

and I know this
to be true because
there is not one second
that I have felt like myself

No, never. Not
in the presence of others
have I once felt
like it wasn’t an act

Maybe I too
hold the wrong ideas
About myself, maybe I
don’t quite know myself

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December 1, 2013 in Passing thoughts, Poetry / Prose / Art / Creative / Musings. Tags: impressions

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Poetry

We've seen things, and we've known things, for as long as we remember. We knew we were different a long time before people started telling us, or treating us different. We know things that some would never know, and we see things that many cannot see, no matter how hard they try. We also think a lot, and we feel a lot. We don't know where or how it began, but it did. Your path, in some way, was chosen for you. You haven't quite figured out life, or your place or purpose in it. It's a struggle sometimes, because all you really know is that you're different. There are those that try to understand. Some get driven away because people fear what they don't understand. Sometimes you drive yourself away because you don't understand. Some try to find meaning and try to make sense of the things you do and say. None of it is easy. Most just misunderstand, and live with truths that they pick for themselves, about you. All you really know is that you're different. It's not always a bad thing, and it's not always a good thing. It's just the way you are. There's so much inside you that you wish you could share with the world, if only you knew how. Life's a journey of finding your voice. Finding a way to let people in. It's never been easy, and it doesn't get easier as you go along. You keep doing what you're doing, and try your very best to stay afloat. Just don't be wishing for rainbows, because they are none to be found. Rainbows are for them. We've got something else coming.

You're not always sad, or depressed, or overwhelmed with bleak thoughts. No. People misunderstand. Maybe it's because of the ways you let your demons out, and the things you do to try to stay afloat. Maybe they see it in your writing, in your music, in your art, or in anything you put your soul into doing. Human beings are complex creatures, and nobody has really quite figured them out yet. There's so much to living. How you think, and how you feel. What you know, and what you don't want to know. There's also other people. People that you watch from a distance. From your designated safe zone. People you've studied for the greater part of your life, learning how to be like them so you don't stand out too often. You do that. You pretend. You pretend for so long that sometimes you forget that that's not you. You long for freedom. Deep down inside you, where your soul rests, you know that this isn't all there is. You watch people and you see them all being natural and just getting through life and you sometimes wish you could have that. Why can't you just be as you are and feel free? Why do you have this emptiness, and this hunger, that keeps you on edge all the time. Why do you feel what you feel, and think what you think? There are no answers out there, except for the fact that you were meant for more. Something different. Not this. You might find it someday, or maybe you won't, but what really matters is that you know that you're not the one that's too different to love. The rest of the world is, and you'll just have to do what you do, with your eyes to the ground, and maybe you'll find someone else that's out of place too, in this world. Maybe then you'd have a friend to find answers with, together.

People want to be different. They confuse being different with being unique. They go down different paths in life and they try to make their mark in the world. They choose the paths less travelled in hopes that people will see them in a different light, but that's not quite the same as being different. People don't always tell you, or even see, that you're different, but they definitely make you feel that way. Some shun away because they sense it. Some are intrigued by it- you. Some think they know you, and everything you are. That's difficult to believe, because you still wonder about what goes on inside you. Being different means feeling alone, more than anything. You're always watching people, trying to figure them out, learning how to be like them, but deep down you know you could never be like them. You would always want more, or less, or something different. You have so much going on in your head and heart that you keep to yourself because you don't want to scare people away. You don't want to be an inconvenience. You just want to be you, but only the parts that you think people can accept. You feel a lot. Often too much. You think a lot too, but you usually say very little. Being different means that people are not like you, and you're not like them. Being different doesn't always mean special, or unique. It just means that you're different, and it'll be awhile before you, or anyone else, can figure you out, if that happens. In the meantime, just know that you didn't have a choice, however hard that is to believe. Know that your struggles are real, and the battles you have with your thoughts are real too. It doesn't matter if anyone else sees or believes you. It's real. You can do this. Let the world fool you, if you must. Let them trample all over your dreams. You're different. This is their world. Someday, we'll find our own, or we'll make one.

Sometimes you haven't felt confident for so long that you forget how it feels like. You forget how certainty feels like, because you're the kind of person that loves too hard, too easy, and gives too much. You've lived with pain for so long that you forget how it feels like to not have this pain. You figure you're at the point where you might even miss this pain, this suffering. This is the life you know, and what has become familiar to you now. You don't know any other way to live, and to love. You start to wonder about soulmates, and whether they exist. It's an interesting idea, but one that seems like nothing more than a dream. Willful ideation. Wishful thinking. What if someone really exists in this world. Your other half. Why if some part of the mythological stories were true, and we were meant to be connected with a certain someone before we were split apart and cursed to always feel empty, without our other half. What if you're at the end of the line. You've carried all these things on your own for so long. You've endured the pains of life. You were never made for any of this. People. Life. Expectations. Misunderstandings and hurt. The voices in your head. Enough is enough, you tell yourself. You're done. Then someone comes along. No, not an angel. Another human being. They're broken too, and finding their way, just like you. You give a little wave. You say hello, and hope to never say goodbye, because if goodbye ever comes, you know you'd forget how to breathe again.

Your scars tell stories. Stories that are not always meant to be shared. Sometimes, these stories are for you, and only you, for and with good reason. They serve as a reminder. They remind you of all the times you've tried and failed, all the times you've fallen, and even all the times where you didn't try, and still fell. Those lonely nights, where your eyes bleed tears. All those times you felt like the world, or even the entire universe, was out to get you. Your wishes and your dreams are the first to break. They shrink in size, and you lose so much hope that you start wishing only for, maybe, a day where people, and the world, can be nice to you. Just once, if someone could chase you. Just once, if someone could give you that comfort while you're hurting. Just once, maybe, someone could love you, not just in spite of the demons in your head and the darkness that lives within you, but for it. Maybe that person would have it too. Your demons would play together. It'll be a mess. A beautiful mess, but still a mess. You'll have more scars. You'll still fall. You'll still be wishing and hoping, but at the very least, you won't be lonely. It's one weirdo for another, one crazy person to another. It's a love that not everyone can understand- sometimes, you don't even understand it yourself. All you really need to know is that it's real. Everything you've ever wanted is right there, in front of you.

To have gone through life with a perpetual emptiness in your heart and to still be standing after so many failed attempts and silly mistakes at trying to fill that void. You, dear stranger, are a survivor, and much more. Not everyone will understand. It makes little sense to the ones who walk a different path. What fills other people's lives do very little for you, and for us-people like us. Your whole life, you've tried, over and over, to find your place in this world. Sometimes it fits, or so you think. More often than not, it doesn't, but you try to make it, and that never works out. You can't force things, and waiting seems hopeless sometimes. You've all but given up, and you've accepted your fate. In doing that, you've accepted yourself, and when you do that, you speak to the universe in a way that you've never done so before. You're putting yourself out there, telling the universe that it's okay if you don't fit in anywhere. It's okay if there's no one for you. You'll make your own place, and in doing that, maybe you'll have visitors. Others who have no where else to go, like you. Maybe one will stay. Maybe.

My friend from the darkness comes to visit every now and then. He talks a lot, but he does listen. He listens, and then he talks. Sometimes, he whispers. He asks me questions, and then he tells me how things could be, and how some things shouldn't be. Sometimes, he talks through me. He says things that make other people angry, or sad, but he has the best intentions. It's just, neither one of us are good with people, or our words, sometimes. We just feel a lot, really, and then we think a lot. It drains us of all our energy and it makes us want to do nothing but stay in bed all day. We try to sleep, because that's when it's quiet, but then they still come, in dreams and in nightmares. It's like an obsession. It goes on and on and on in your head. He talks to me. I talk to him. We try talking to people but they don't always listen. They don't always see, and the don't understand, sometimes. Maybe all we need to go to someplace quiet, without people. Maybe we need to scream and shout and let it all out. Maybe we need to find new ways to drown the voices. Maybe we need more than just the written word to qwell our inner demons. Maybe we need people to stop talking and start listening, so then you'd feel like what you have to say actually matters- because it does. It does, because you matter.

There's a little boy, or a little girl, that lives inside of us. There's a lot that goes on inside of you, but this little one's job is to feel- to have feelings. To go through that big box and take out the more suitable ones to play with. When we say we have feelings for someone, we confuse ourselves. We think that means we like someone, or we love someone, but the little one will tell you that there's a whole lot of other feelings in the box. Some with names, like happiness, sadness, jealousy, and hurt. Some without names, but goes further to brighten your soul, or add to the darkness. There's a whole range in that big, big box. The box has been there for a long time. Some of the feelings you're familiar with- they come to visit too often. Some, you're not quite familiar with. When you have feelings for someone, when a little boy meets a little girl and they bring their boxes together to play, you'll discover some new ones, and some old ones will come out to play. It'll be a mess, but how else do children play and learn?

You take it to the words, because sometimes the feelings get too overwhelming. Some write, and some read. The feelings accumulate, and they demand to be heard. Sometimes the words are not enough. Sometimes, the feelings fall through the cracks. There are no words to describe them. No sentences that would suffice. Sometimes the hurt gets too deep, and there's no way out. You can close your eyes and try to think of nice things. You can try to go to your happy place. You can talk to people, maybe watch some nice videos or play your favourite songs, but they won't stop. There are days where these feelings win. They overwhelm you with heavy doses of fear, anxiety, insecurity, and feelings of inadequacy so strong that you feel like you simply cannot go on. Every day feels heavier than the last, and everything you do seems so insignificant. There will be days where you crash. Days where you don't think that you'll ever get up again. Days like these are where the best people shine. No, not you. Your favourite person, maybe. Your significant other, perhaps. You'll find them, or they'll find you. Keep waiting. Keep writing. Keep reading.

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