2001-02-27 | 06:04:50

If I had a bag full of wishes I would only wish for a few things. I've realized that as of late no matter what filter I use to suspend over my eyes, shit is not working out for me. Thing's aren;t flowing. And it's not because of the lack of a job. Really. Because I think I might sooner or later make a break and get my foot in the door somewhere. It's just the fact that I look at people. People I love and care for and realize how pretty and smart they all are. How unlike I am to them.

I used to think that one day someone would come along and see all this passion within me. How in one minute I can run around in circles like a kid with too much sugar in their system only because something "cool" happened. And how in another minute I can sit down and pour through books. Read up on things people never even though of. And I look at people as I walk down the street. I'm so not happening in this world. And I'm not saying this because I'm about to jump out a window or anything. I just think that I'm never going to be as pretty or as smart.

A friend of mine once told me, a long time ago, that I judge myself too harshly. That I should realize that I'm never going to be the ideal I always wished to be as a child. He saw something in me. He's not around anymore because he took it upon himself to die in a pool of his own blood. But the way he spoke words to me I would wonder who he was looking at. I would look around to see if he was looking at someone else. But he was always stareing into my eyes. I miss him. I miss the rush, the burning of a flame he always infused into me when he ran his hand through my hair and called me beautiful.

Because I'm not beautiful. And I'm never going to have 'the body'. I don't want to mindlessly walk on a treadmill along with the rest of the crowd at the gym. I don't want to be considered beautiful because I have a small waist and big tits. I like being curvy. I like my tummy. I like the way my pudgy fingers tap on my keyboard. I just don't like the fact that I will never be considered beautiful because of this. And yes I know that I may have charm and even wit swimming inside my blubber infested head. But that's not going to get me a look. That's not going to get men turn their heads at me and smile and say 'damn that girl is wonderful.'

I looked out my window the other night and I acknowledged the fact that I never see stars from here. I used to see so many starts growing up. In London. In Belgium. In Brasil. In this city all I see are crushed glitter particles on sidewalks. I used to think that was beautiful when I got here. I would walk back home from a late night of dancing and drinking with friends and I would look down at my shoes as they walked my way back home. And I would giggle at the fact that I would think stars were placed to shine on the ground. They weren't placed. They fell because as hard as they shined brightly in this city, it didn't help. So they are caged in concrete with people walking all over them.

I've never walked that way home again. Maybe because I realize I was never the star I thought I would be when I grew up. Maybe because I realize that maybe, just maybe, I am caged like the stars in the pavement.



p r e v i o u s // n e x t