Angel

Everything was closing in.

The things around me were blurred as if the world had suddenly gone out of focus.

And then I saw her.

She was wearing a purple dress and was laughing with a friend.

Nothing had ever looked quite as stunning. 

 

I found myself walking towards her.

I was about to open my mouth and say hello when I stopped myself.

Because what was I doing?

Why was I there?

I didn’t even know her.

 

But she was petite and gorgeous,

Like an angel gleaming in starlight.

And yet, she bore a resemblance to me.

We had the same curves and the same long hair.

I shouldn’t have been looking at her the way that I was.

 

All of my life I had been taught that girls look alike to each other.

And to an extent,

We do.

We have the same private parts, don’t we?

We grew up wearing various shades of pink until we could inevitably tell the difference between fuschia and magenta.

 

I had been raised to never even consider looking at another girl in a way that was,

Provocative.

Infatuating.

Love-struck.

 

No.

I was looking at a girl in this way.

I had been in a darkness and this angel had brought me out of it with one smile.

No one had ever made me feel smitten until I saw her.

 

So maybe something is wrong with me.

Maybe I am broken and maybe I am wrong to feel this way.

But I feel this way.

When I look at her, I smile and she brightens up my day.

If that isn’t real,

Then I don’t know what is.

If that isn’t okay or acceptable,

Then maybe what is okay or acceptable should change.

Because I am not going to.

 

And if society has been wrong about this,

Then maybe they were wrong about other things.

Maybe girls don’t all have to like boys.

Maybe boys don’t all have to like girls.

Maybe girls don’t all look and act the same.

Maybe some girls don’t have the same private parts as others.

Maybe society needs to stop telling people what is right and wrong.

Maybe society needs to stop telling people that they should feel or act a certain way.

Maybe society needs to realize that they cannot decide what makes up a person when the person still has to choose what makes them who they are.

Maybe one day we will all realize that life isn’t black and white.

This poem is about: 
Me
Our world

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