The Eye of the Beholder

I have an Associates Degree in Arts and Humanities.  I don’t want to quit smoking, but I’m trying anyway.  I don’t like to wear make up, but I do occassionally because I pretend I want to be pretty.  I cut my hair but I like it better long.  I feel manly when I keep it short, but when it’s long I just tie it back every day.  I press and dry clean clothing but I know I’m worth more intelligently so I don’t try very hard anymore.  I pretend that I don’t ever cry, but I choke the tears down more than I’d ever admit.  I say I’d do it, but I wouldn’t promise when the time comes.  I act like I don’t care, but I’m never careless.  I plan.

He has no education, literally.  He quit smoking and he wanted to.  He doesn’t try, but they love him anyway.  He’s losing his hair, but they run to him.  He drives and because he wants to he actually tries.  He never says he’d do it, but when the time comes he would.  He’s careless.  He never plans.

I’m so clumsy that I’ve never caught a break, but I’m pretty good at missing them.  I’m so angry that I fight off the unwanted attention that I secretly crave.  I’m so proud that I’ll blame anyone for everything.  I’m so tired that I refuse to sleep.  I’m so thin that I can’t stop eating.  I’m so sad that I’m angry.  I’m so angry that I’m sad.  I’m so numb that I’m blind. 

I’ve tried so hard until I can’t care enough to do so anymore.  I’ve cared so much until I can’t try to do so anymore.  I’ve given until I’ve been forced to take. 

I’ve broken and rebuilt and crumbled again.  Am I pretty?  Am I smart?  Am I nice?  Am I anything anymore?


About Blue

I'm the classiest motherfucker you'll ever meet. View all posts by Blue

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