Light Bathed In PerfectionSmack.I feel the first blow as it makes contact with my cheek, sending needles of pain to rattle my brain. I knew this was coming, but my face still turns bright red with embarrassment as my eyes well up with tears.I glance over my shoulder, at the tall girl standing near my staircase. Her eyes are wide. In the darkness of the kitchen, her blonde hair was so beautiful, the way her bangs framed her face and the way it fell down to her waist line. The moonlight was hitting her just right, illuminating her high cheekbones and large eyes. Such perfection shouldn't even be standing in the small kitchen I'm forced to call my own, let alone watching such a dirty scene unravel in front of her."Go upstairs Maki," I tell her calmly. My mother is staring at her too, waiting. She'll continue whether she leaves or not, of this I am sure. For now however, she's stuck in a state of confusion. Never before have I invited anyone over. No one wants an audience when they expose their weakness,
Who Am I?In a world filled with neatlittle labels intended toplace people in convenientcategories for lateranalysis, to makeeveryone elsecomfortable,to feel they knowwhere everyoneelse stands,so they can reflectupon who are friendsand who are enemieswithin their ownperceptions,saving the embarrassmentof finding they maylike the wrong kindof person, who hasnot been given theproper stampon the foreheadwho am I?I ask myselfwhen I have dressed myselfin what I have been givenbut found one was too tight,and the other too lose,I grapple around the edges,feeling the pressure to bedefined, perhaps even to takepride in the anticipationof being a part of somethingwhich has just a dash offlavor of taboowrapped around it,to toss conventionsinto the wind,and fly free,yet, is thisreally me?who am I?The voice is a whisperthat will not leave me alone,feeling I am playing in partthe role of a fraud, but thatwas never my intention,so what if I like to a
Stop The HateI thought you were understanding.I thought you were accepting.I thought you were okay with it.I thought you were let me be myself.But, no."You look like a lesbian on the prowl", is what you said.Why are you limiting me?Why are you suppressing me?Why are you suffocating me?I should be able to be comfortable in my own shoes.I should be able to express myself.I should be able to feel like myself.I don't want to hide behind a veil of lies.I don't want to pretend I'm interested in something I'm not.I don't want to suppress something of myself.I don't want to fake it anymore.I just want to be myself.Let me express myself.Let me be me.