Who am I?
Look at me, look at my face, look into my eyes. Each time peel back another layer till you can finally see past every mask I’ve put up. What do you see? Can you tell me cause I don’t know what I look like. I don’t know who I am.
Flesh as fragile as paper, skin as tough as wood. Glassy eyes like marbles, they tell stories. Lips, sugared, stitched shut so I don’t scare anyone with the blackness of my soul. Keep me silent, bind me with black silk and silver rings. I’ve framed my eyes with eyeliner, feminine, beautiful. I think it shows you how deep my eyes are, shows you who I really am.
Lipstick, eyeliner, cover-up. Hair, coarse as horse hair, spliced with leaves. I’m halved by a ridge of crushed paper. Where one layer was destroyed by the other. My face is sticks, dry, brittle, fragile. I’ve stabbed my face with glass, spilled dew on the leaves around the glass marble eye. Why? I don’t know.
Silently screaming, eyes wide, perfect with all my flaws hidden behind layers of chemicals and powder. Don’t like me. You don’t have to. But if you could, would you? Please? I’ve tried so hard to be perfect. Perfect. Perfection. Manifested by the plastic perfect of the modern world.
Don’t like that? I’m also natural. This is the real me, perfect in imperfections of nature. Everyone loves nature. No? Oh. I tried so hard. Don’t say no. Please.
Everyone loves me now. Silenced. Spliced between the two perfections. Manufactured beauty and natural beauty. I’ve tried so hard to be perfect for you. Why won’t you love me? I did it all for you.
All for you. Do you even care? Of course not. Cause now I’m a freak. I scare you because you can’t define me. I broke the boundaries you nailed around me. I exploded out of the mould you forced me into.
I’m sorry if I made you mad. I thought this is what you wanted. I just wanted to make you happy. Why won’t you be happy? Could you try? I tried, so hard.
Can’t you see how I’ve pulled my own head off for you? Can’t you see how I’ve cut open my face for you? Oh. You don’t want to look. I understand.
Well look anyway. This is what I am. Glory in the monster that I’ve birthed. You pushed me, told me to cut off what you didn’t want and you expect me to be seamless. I don’t care anymore. I can’t make you happy. Maybe I am happy with myself now. Maybe I like being a freak. You can hate me. I don’t care.
Except I do.
Care. I care so much it hurts.
Just one more look. Maybe this time I’ll be different and you’ll like me. Just once more.
Don’t leave me here like this. You made me. Don’t turn your back.