i was always the overly sensitive one when i was young. the littlest things made me terribly afraid and i would end up crying. my elder sister would bully me, pinch my cheeks until they were burning red and sore or i would play catching with my sisters and accidentally fall down and bruise my kneecap and i would run to my mother and complain. she would be talking on the phone, busy with business as usual, and she would urgently push a fifty dollar bill into my hand (the difference it would make, if then i knew what money meant), nodding her head as though the person on the other end of the line could see her, and brush me aside, whispering impatiently, stop making so much noise can?
but mama, mama, its not going away. pain.
although the past few years have somehow made her much sweeter and softer around the edges, i have stopped confiding in her, even when she tells me how much she cares for me.
strange how in protecting ourselves, we end up losing the ability to protect the ones we love.
strange how in ensuring that we don't get hurt, we end up hurting the ones we love.
the feelings and thoughts are locked in automatically, almost without reason, unnecessary precaution, and the eyes don't betray a thing- they remain blank and cold, even as the heart shrieks and shrivels in the blazing heat.
(sometimes it gets so hard to remember why i write, why i am alive. my words are lost amongst the words of others. my face is lost amongst the faces of others. there is nothing special about me. i am, as i am. i go on. there is nothing special about me, except how You make me special.
i wish i could see myself the way you see me. in your eyes i am dazzling and perfect and full of possibilities; so full that nothing can ever pin it down or hold it in- always adrift, always free.)