Becoming a Fallacy


I have always admired the strong.


We as a whole have been taught to idolize those who can carry the burden of thousands

and manage to exert unimaginable strength in pulling the corners of their lips into a smile.


We have celebrated comic book heros decorated war veterans firemen police officers pilots sailors actors with histories of needles and prescriptions actresses with histories of travel size razor blades that come in packages of four because one was never enough to do the job right.


We have aspired to be something, more than something, a thing so big that a something doesn't begin to describe its ferocious nature, a thing that devours the weak and plows through emotional turmoil and heartache and mental strain because.


It is strong.

I have become strong.


I have forced unpopular opinions through my teeth and showered in the resulted repercussions I have been rejected by middle school crushes and high school suitors I have laughed in the faces of those who brand me a bitch--"My friend, I am already aware of this fact!"--I have danced at two in the morning to forget a pain so deep I have danced I have laughed I have sung I have done the world and the world has done me.


I have cried.


I have cried with a tremendous power I have convulsed at the foot of my bed with my sobs shaking my throat and rattling the bones inside the body I deemed hideous I have stood in front of the mirror with an anger and unappreciation so fierce it curled off my body in waves and washed me into the dark recesses of self-image I have wrapped my pillow around my mouth at two in the morning to numb a pain so deep I have cried I have hated I have failed I have loved the world and the world has hated me.


But dammit you keep smiling.


Don't focus on me and my flaws and my pain and my heart splintering into a million pieces and resting in a heavy heap at the bottom of my stomach don't you dare pity me and my self-loathing don't you dare call me perfect don't you dare call me beautiful don't you dare say you love me don't you dare.

You are beautiful.


I am not and I have accepted this, I am okay with my soul paling in comparison to yours I am okay with your thoughts forging an intricate path of wondrous fantasy I am okay with you being lovely and brilliant and innovative and everything I pretend to be I am okay with you being strong.


I ask not for your pity but to call me what I am not in the hopes that I will begin to read fallacies as truth, I will read your lips and swear God spoke them Himself, I will underline your typed response with my finger and find security in the uniform letters of the slanted font you chose, I will perhaps believe all that I am not and become what I wish to be.



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