To War!

Hello Beautiful Reader.

Why are we so gentle within? Why are we victims of our own weaknesses? Why are you a beautiful reader... maybe you're not because of your inner innocence. Maybe what you are is a survivor, a fighter, and maybe those wounds, scars, and memories of your tribulations are what make you beautiful. Perfection is only beautiful for so long. Eventually it is our flaws that make us truly the reader.

Nothing happened today of note...or did it?

My mind is sometimes a muddle. That's what I see now. I see nothing but a disgusting puddle of muddy, murky water in a field of flint and obsidian. What is around is intoxicating in its simple, yet vast array of beauty, but here I am, a muddy myriad of filth. Different, sure, but not pure. Not innocent. Not simple. Not really much.

I'm not different enough to be considered corrupt or ugly, or even marred. No, what I am is different. I'm blatantly there, a nuisance, and then come the few, the ghosts of blurred light outlines. They walk through the flint field with the obsidian flora in a group, walking to my puddle. Some look and keep walking, but a couple stay a moment, turning from the crowd of people in my life to stare at the muddied water. They must wonder what its purpose is, if it's part of the show or just a mistake, but they keep walking eventually. A part of me wants to scream, "It's me! Don't leave me here!" and the other part is too ashamed to say anything. After all, it's been me that's dragged me out of my own pits before, and it's me that will do it again. I don't need the help, and I'm too proud to accept it. They can all just go their own way... and so they do, and i hang my head in loneliness...


What am I to you? Am I a sideshow? A brief moment in your day, forgotten again? Will I keep on, and if I do, where will I go?

My eyes are shut again. I'm in the desert. . . white sands, I think. The sun beats down on the snow like surface, the dunes glinting like a million little diamonds. The wind buffets my face, carressing my body with heat and glittery sand. I dig my toes into the innocent sand, smiling.  There is no shade, but I don't need it. All I am is the world around me, and I see myself dissipate into sand, blown away by the wind. I soar over the desert, free in my sudden separation from the world. Peace...what a thing to have...but no, the adventure doesn't end here!

I fly, each grain of myself dancing on the wind to its every whim and thought. I'm dancing! I laugh, twirling, spinning chaotically into the obliviously intense blue sky, and I don't care about anything again. I'm not numb, but I'm just okay with everything. It's warm, i'm free, and i don't have a body. Nothing to live up to, nothing to get skinny, nothing to get strong, no heart to beat, no air to breathe, no tendons to stretch or muscles to warm up, nothing. I don't need it, and there's no pain or pleasure, just the whistling wind through my disembodied being. I dance across the sunbeams, making the sounds of laughter and song both, thought alone guiding my voices into a  melodious wonder, and suddenly, I want nothing more than to sleep at the crescendo. Suddenly, the world is alit with colour for the briefest second as the sun sets, and the cool night is calmly held by the pale moonlight.

I'm in a sea of reflecting glow, and i'm in a body again, but i'm perfect, lying in the sand in a white dress. I can feel my perfection... the smoothness of my skin, the silky softness of my hair, the lithe muscles and the sloping curves of my body. I know i'm creamily tanned, exotic, and i stretch out a long leg through the sand... ah, maybe if i believe hard enough i'll become her. I smile, confidence swelling inside of me. In this form, I can be whatever I want. None will reject me, but I won't mind if they do. I don't have or want power, but i won't be hurt....but...i don't want it. I hum to myself, smiling slightly at the moonlight as i feel her cool light on my skin. My eyes are brown, then blue, staring at the stars as they smile at me. But still, I need to go back. This is fruitless, this dreaming about false beauty. No. I need to come back to reality and sleep. Angrily i strike the air, which ripples like water and goes back to reflecting my face, sweating and gasping from the effort of the wish. I'm sorry, self...not tonight. I cannot dwell. I will not dwell.

This perfection is not what I need. I need my scars. I need my pride from surviving pain. It is my way of laughing at the world. Look what I can do, world!!! I can handle you!!! Throw more my way... I'll fight you every step of the way. To war, perfection! Meet me on the battlefield of reality.

Good night, beautiful reader. Good night, survivor.