Why do I want to fit in? Why would I ever want to be part of a crowd, one in the same, with no special qualities or quirks? Why do I want to be pretty, short, skinny, and cute? What for?
What do we get from being different though? I'm tall, for a girl my age at least. I'm not skinny, at least that's what I think. I'm not pretty or cute, and why do I even want to be?
Why do I run after something so petty and worthless, when it only makes my lungs and throat ache?
Sometimes, some days, I feel like I finally caught it. Beauty. I can look in a mirror, satisfied. But, I never did catch it. It's only a spare moment, a mirage if you will. I had only been running for too long, far too long, and had begun to hallucinate.
My soul, heart, body, all of it; yearns for acceptance. To be accepted by my family, friends, and complete strangers. Accepted by a stranger, someone that I would never see again. Someone who doesn't know me, who I don't know. who will never know me, and who I will never know.
Why does a simple gesture create this empty void in my heart? How does the point of a finger, the scanning of eyes, the whispering, the stares, the laughs, all of it; how does it hurt me more than a slap across the face.
My face. I've always had it. Even if it has grown and changed, it's always been there of course. It is tall, and a little childish I think.
I used to have thousands upon thousands of freckles. I really loved those freckles, but I haven't seen them in a while. I used to have a large gap between my front teeth, not too long ago. And I hated it. It was a feature that not many shared, and so, it was embarrassing.
I have strange ears I think. I wish that the lobe of it where smaller. It is a strange and little thing to be insecure about, but it is still there nonetheless. I have a small mouth, definitely.
I really like kisses. I really like hugs. I really like scratches, and rough rubbing, and a firm grip around my neck, but not so firm that I can't draw a breath. I like hands in my hair, pulling, or just threading. I like a hand on my face, I like a hand on my stomach, my hip, my chest, my legs, anywhere.
I like rough touches, firm hands, so that I know that they are there. I like lazy, but tight hugs. I like the weight of a person on my body. I like firm, touches that are there. I like proof, that they are there.
Soft touches scare me, I know you are treating me with care, and love, but please don't. Soft touches fell like weariness. Like fear. Like regret. Like they can be snatched away all to quick.
So please, tight, tough, rough, careless, painful grabs. Treat me like a rag doll, I'll always be here, even if you hurt me, I will always forgive you, because you are special to me. Even if I'm not special to you.
I've realized that I really dipped into a sexual format just then, but I guess it is something that I always want from you. I feel selfish, when you touch me. I'm truly just happy that you are touching me at all, you don't need to tire yourself in trying to finish me off.
I could settle with just laying on you, just hugging you, just touching backs, just grabs, just strokes, just pinches, just laced fingers, just threading fingers through my hair, just gripping me, bruising me, teeth marks, hickeys, draw blood if you will.
Scratching me, leaving red, swollen lines all over my body. I love that so much. I want you to leave marks, so that I can see them later, and be reminded, that you are there. That you care, and that you will be here, for more than a month, or maybe even a year.
Will you? Will you be here? It could be only a day, and you could be gone. You could tell me not to come over anymore. Or just stop talking to me. You could ignore me, stay away from me, flinch away from a touch, or a hug.
You could leave so fast. Who knows how long we will be together? Who knows if you will drop me soon? Who knows if you will leave soon? What if you died, or what if I died? It's something that happens so fast, you never expected it.
What if you did it? What if you finally decided that this life was worthless, and left us here. What if Dan left soon after? Or jay, or grace? What if it went just how they say it would? and little old me, too scared, cowardly, and hopeful, would be the only one left. To stand there, with your families at your funeral.
Would I cry? Or would that be too much. How could I survive, alone? I could never die, knowing what I would leave behind. My parents couldn't lose us both. I would come up with excuses, too scared to drop the ball.
How would I survive, live, breathe, eat, drink, without you? Nothing could ever be the same. Dark nights, too bright days. Silence. I always hate silence, but I just know that music would not be ok for me anymore. Would I sleep? Or would I cry? Would I stare at my ceiling, night after night, until I passed out from exhaustion?
I hope that I never find out. Grace and I like to talk about getting a house with all of you after we graduate. I think I really like the idea, but I also know that it won't happen. I, am not tolerable enough to live in the same house as you all. Maybe you guys could get a house together, and I could come over sometimes.
That would hurt me really bad, but I know that if anyone in the group was required to be gone, you would choose me. You all have been through much more together, and are so important to each other, I really don't fit in.
I really want to be popular. At least, I want to seem popular, with you. I think, I just want to fit in.