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Deep cuts

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What does it mean when it hurts for your family to tell you they love you? For your father to tell you you're beautiful? Or that you're intelligent? That he appreciates you and is proud of you? Why does it cut so deep when you know they mean every bit of it and that's why it hurts so badly? Why am I left wishing they never said those things, knowing full well if they didn't say them I should desperately want them to? If they never said such things I'd be deprived, yet my priviledge is my suffering, and it makes no sense...

I'm tired of being "beautiful", tired of being "smart"... I want to be something else now... I want someone to see me as something else... something more than just another "pretty face" (if you can call it that) with a decent head on her shoulders...

Pen-chan's got new bamboo... I want to run through a bamboo forest and let the occasional splintered shoot lacerate the soles of my feet, and feel the wind on my blood, and smell the sweat of elephants a quarter mile away, trumpeting happily as they take a dip in the water hole and spray their heads in the morning sun, the rays of which peep at me through moderately thick foliage, and wink at the tiger and the giant panda on the tops of my ears... I want to feel the dirt on my face and the soil caked on my bare stomach from the past four days... the tangles in my hair growing messier with every tossle from the skylarking zephyrs... and collapse after running for fifteen miles, back down onto the foliage, until a great snake slithers across my chest, glancing back at me once, and continuing on it's way, and a tarantula crawls onto my shoulder, then journeys up my neck and face and comes to rest in my wild nest of a mane, and we fall asleep together in the blinking shade of the lush verdure... dreaming the same dream - that of a nymph in a nebula...

 

09-03-A.D. 2007

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