Roots.

Broken Glass

 

My earliest memories were filled with color. They were beautiful and worth remembering, except, it gets harder each day as I age with the human contraption known as ‘time’.

It is yet another ‘new’ year, yet much remains the same.

I remember when my world turned grey. I remember when the name calling began and when I started to get odd looks by strangers. I’d often wonder if they’d stop. It has been many years, but again. much remains the same.

I remember the people who promised to stay and to help. They’re long gone now. I remember the people I stood up for. The same people who eventually conformed and joined the ranks of those who ostracized me. I was but a stepping stone.

I remember when school used to be fun, a long time ago. I would ignore the people who picked on me and it was just me and the world. It was quiet, and I liked it.Β  Over time, these people got louder and harder to shut out. The looks pierced deeper – I remember that afternoon in the school bus when I asked God why I was born this way, a freak.

I looked around at the normal looking people. I wished. I prayed. I hoped. I wanted so badly to look ‘normal’. I wanted people to stop calling me ‘ugly’ or all the other nasty things they would say. I wanted it to stop.

More than a decade has passed and..not much has changed. I am surrounded by carbon copies of the same people over and over again. The same beautiful people that I would never talk to and generally avoid. The same popular bunch that get in my way as I try to weave through life and of course, the judgmental hypocrites that make up the rest of the populace.

I would tell people today that I feel ugly, and that I used to be called ‘ugly’ and they wouldn’t believe me. I would tell, or try to tell, people my fears and they would trivialize all of them.

People say that the world is broken, yet, as I stand among the cracks, I see these people with their perfect, proper lives. I see more than I should. I see the subtle looks and find every reason to believe or feel that they’re against me.

The world is against me.

Waves and waves of never ending current crashing against me as I walk, step by step, planting my feet into the murky waters. I feel like I am going nowhere. I feel like falling.

I feel like giving up.

I constantly remind myself that I shouldn’t care what these people think and that how they perceive me is irrelevant but the problem with constantly being misunderstood and misconstrued is that it eats away at your insides, leaving you empty. People make assumptions about your intentions without understanding the actual behavior and thought – and you know how people are so quick to judge these days.

They carry these assumptions and throw them around. They congregate and shower you with disdain, enough to make them feel better about themselves and enough to make you feel worthless and insecure. This gets harder when the world expects you to be strong, again, because of the assumptions that they make about you.

I sometimes feel like grabbing these people and making them understand, yet I hesitate because I am uncertain about their capacity to understand, or maybe I just feel like it would be a waste of time. I have long accepted a life of misunderstanding..or maybe I haven’t.

Sometimes, I hate people.

Ultimately, I guess I’m tired of always standing by the sidelines, constantly searching for a way in.Β  A way to be like these people, to laugh and smile and not pretend. With each passing day, I wake up with a blanket of grey covering the world that I perceive. I cannot see the same colors that they see.

I feel anger and hatred inside of me when I see them congregate. They make jokes, they giggle and they flatter one another to no end. These people are impervious yet here I stand, vulnerable as a single leaf in the wind. They disgust me. I see through their half smiles as they walk by me.

Oh we could have been friends. We really could have. You could have been so much more. There is so much in the world that you’re not seeing. There’s more to life than this..yet, the irony is that you’d probably be thinking the same thing about me, all you perfect, ‘normal’ people.

So judge me, I am broken.

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