Grey

I wrote this 3 years ago in college. Soon after this, I dropped out to pursue other ventures. It was during this time that I was battling myself and hatred for life. I arose with scars.

The skin on my face had thinned like paper from the winter's breath. Now it hurts to smile. My reflection mocks me and makes shadow puppets under my eyes. The whistles that had once come from the lips of men are now blown by Mother Nature's hollowed horn.

I'm caught between loving and hating myself. The girl that I once was has grown into a woman that should be admired. But instead, I am compared. Glossy RED lipstick models prod and ask me how far I will go. Their high pitched laughter does not harm their perfectly pierced ears.

Once compared to the wings of the butterflies as children, we are now women...Grown into caterpillars with sweatpants. Our husbands dare not speak the difference.

What is the difference...If we are loved for what we are and hated for what we are not; if we are loved for what we are not and hated for what we are?

Our potential is within reach. Almost too bright, yet not blinded. From this tunnel, we hope to arise. It keeps venturing further away. Or am I afraid of change?

There have been times when I have questioned the thickened anxiety in my heart, 'who am I doing this for?' Am I simply disregarding the world apart, because this is the solidarity that I take comfort in? The crystal clear waters surrounding my islands have been shattered by my hand. I will not be alone. I will not tolerate this weightless limbo that I have exiled myself to live within. Thousands of fractals fall into my open palms. I destroy the images they reflect. No more shadow puppets.

I am not lifeless.

I am not distorted.

I am not without energy.

I am not grey.

Author's Note

I was in a really difficult place when I wrote this. I am grateful that I left school. Some days I hate myself for not being able to complete a degree. But I do believe I could go back and take things slowly now that I know so much more about myself. Thank you for reading. I would love to hear your stories too.

Reviews

[Chris]

I listened to what you said... then paused to read the Author Note. I've since been sitting here thinking on how to respond to the note - so much that I needed to reread "Grey" to effectively comment ...strange how one gets caught up with a person rather than just their remembrance... and yet that is what some of us DO when we really listen.

We do have a self's image and we try so hard to ensure that we project it to give us WORTH, Status, and (of course) the recognition we DESERVE from the "important" people. Self sets us apart from all the peers we chameleoned beside as children ...and we really, really, REALLY were good at hiding ...us... as children. And then perhaps we learned THEY were hiding too?

Sometimes we really learn life ISN'T fair - and it breaks a person because they didn't understand that, couldn't deal or understand how caring doesn't count, WOULDN'T deal, listen, or move on - if only to rebegin from scratch. Being "special" is seldom the same as FEELING "special"... especially when childhood is left behind and others can and will do what they want AS they want.

I'm still thinking toward your note here... if you want to talk about it give a holler - anytime.

[Peach]

I'm truly honored by your words..
"the peers we chameleoned beside as children" Really resonates with me. I've often felt there is a child within me that has not yet been recognized and healed.
I truly appreciate you offering your ear. I extend the same to you - anytime.

[Jack O]

The crystal clear waters surrounding my islands have been shattered by my hand. I will not be alone. I will not tolerate this weightless limbo that I have exiled myself to live within. Thousands of fractals fall into my open palms. I destroy the images they reflect. No more shadow puppets.

This is my favorite part. The energy and pure thought of this I think is good.

Once compared to the wings of the butterflies as children, we are now women...Grown into caterpillars with sweatpants. Our husbands dare not speak the difference.
-This part seems so hate filled and mean. Powerful writing, but gosh. so unkind. Correct that he will say that to you. till his lawyer serves you papers. He cannot say, I am unhappy to such a woman. Discourse is impossible with such grief.

Is not mother natures horn a cornucopia of opportunity?

[Peach]

Absolutely, I had a lot of hate in my heart when I wrote this years ago. Happy to say I've felt it lift from my heart.

Is not mother nature's horn a cornucopia of opportunity?

I feel relief when you say this. My old self would have shook her head, but I know the truth is though her breath is cold, it is loud and fierce and pushes me to my limits. Something I shouldn't hide from anymore.
Thank you for your words!