The One They Cannot See

 

I fell in love with this girl when I turned twenty-three. Her legs were angular, much as they were when she was thirteen. Her skin broke out in rashes every time the sun made love to her that left her with blemishes that only the rays of the sun could cover. Her hair didn’t blow in the wind either, not like how she would have liked to describe. Instead, it was stern and knew its place but was often confused on her head. It tangled. But she didn’t dare run her fingers through it. As it would reject her similar to how the rest of the world rejected it. That could have been the reason her hair took shelter to the harsh condition of reactions. Her skin resembled the bark of a tree in the rainforest, the sweetest brown there is. Seldom, did she see this. As there were many colors that are seen prettier than her own. Though angular, her legs were pure stone. I often compared them to what I believed would be the gates of Mount Olympus. I guess she was kind of shy too, but it was often taken the wrong way.  She was afraid to show who she really was but I was more eager for her to finally arrive. I didn’t know when I would get close to her but I was willing to wait a lifetime.

She had many failed attempts to blend in, as she was the one coffee bean in a pot of unstrained tea. She did not want us to know her back then. She actually wanted us to ignore her. But like I said.

I was willing to wait a lifetime. 

 

The One They Cannot See

 

High school: cliques, bad hair, and big lips.

In college: too skinny, too confident, no hips.

The constant unwarranted commentary,

“You look good now but would look better if…”

 

The only body she knew has been criticized repeatedly;

Her mind and soul have been altered intermittently.

 

Obsessed with comparison, but afraid of rejection

Does she dare ask, what is their preference?

She finds herself responding to subliminal messages.

Am I beautiful? Or am I lacking perfection?

She is given many compliments but never receives them.

She brushes them off as if they are meaningless.

 

They told her that she was tall, so she refused to wear heels that showed the length of her legs. She now felt short, even worse, restricted.

She was incapable of reaching things she used to stoop low to grasp.

She was now irregular, all to be regular.

Has this happened to you?

 

She attempted to manipulate the places she thought God made a mistake,

But knew it was not what was intended and determined it was too fake.

You encouraged her to give up on the unnecessary change she was trying to make.

 

Is this you?

 

I would say to the girl, who once was me,

To “calm down and challenge every insecurity.”

Because one day, there will be a girl in need,

of accepting the girl she is and not who she is trying to be.

It will happen to her much like it happened to me,

Fabrication is a fix, not something that will set you free.

So let this reminder be the one you use as your key,

They always end up loving the one, they cannot see.

 

I am in love at twenty-three. My legs are angular, much as they were when I was thirteen. My skin breaks out in rashes every time the sun makes love to me. It leaves me with blemishes that only the rays of the sun can anoint. My hair doesn’t blow in the wind either. It knows its place. I caress it even though my fingers get stuck. The rest of the world accepts it. Apparently they’ve missed it.

My hair makes an appearance, my skin, the bark of a tree in the rainforest, the sweetest brown there is. I am the stone that suffocates the gates of Mount Olympus. 

"She has arrived."

I've waited a lifetime.

 

Author's Note

What message do you take away from this piece?