Canaria Grey :: District Two :: CBD #1
Dec 31, 2014 11:07:25 GMT -5
Post by ali on Dec 31, 2014 11:07:25 GMT -5
17 years ago I was born, tiny helpless and afraid- I was like a baby bird, pink and hairless and ugly. My parents saw me as a prize, a piece of treasure they could display to prove to the world that their marriage was happy. Except it wasn’t, it never is. My father couldn’t take the responsibility of looking after me so fucked off for a new girl probably. Mother wasn’t fussed.
As I grew, I became an ugly duck. Pasty ghost white skin, skinny arms that are too long for my body, legs of an adolescent boy who hasn’t quite reached puberty yet, dirty blonde hair that remained flat against my scalp, uneven slanted lips, eyes that are too close together and a nose that is tiny compared to my box shaped face. The only redeeming feature of myself is probably the colour of my eyes- a sharp sea blue.
My mother dressed me as if I were a porcelain doll- dressing me in pretty pinks and baby blues. Smearing lipstick on my lips, powdering my cheeks with rouge. She forced me to become a dancer. Pirouette, plea, pirouette again and again. Standing on my tip toes until I fall, dancing until my feet bled from the blisters on my feet.
Behind her back, in the playgrounds of school, I fought. Kicked, punched and bit. I fucking love it. I love the feeling of my fists flying through the air at break neck speed. Fighting feels like freedom, it feels like me. I feel strong when I fight, I feel as if I could tell my mother no. As if I could tell her that I don’t want to dance anymore; she wouldn’t listen. One day I’ll tell her, one day I’ll tell her who I really am.
As I grew, I became an ugly duck. Pasty ghost white skin, skinny arms that are too long for my body, legs of an adolescent boy who hasn’t quite reached puberty yet, dirty blonde hair that remained flat against my scalp, uneven slanted lips, eyes that are too close together and a nose that is tiny compared to my box shaped face. The only redeeming feature of myself is probably the colour of my eyes- a sharp sea blue.
My mother dressed me as if I were a porcelain doll- dressing me in pretty pinks and baby blues. Smearing lipstick on my lips, powdering my cheeks with rouge. She forced me to become a dancer. Pirouette, plea, pirouette again and again. Standing on my tip toes until I fall, dancing until my feet bled from the blisters on my feet.
Behind her back, in the playgrounds of school, I fought. Kicked, punched and bit. I fucking love it. I love the feeling of my fists flying through the air at break neck speed. Fighting feels like freedom, it feels like me. I feel strong when I fight, I feel as if I could tell my mother no. As if I could tell her that I don’t want to dance anymore; she wouldn’t listen. One day I’ll tell her, one day I’ll tell her who I really am.
codeword: Odair :: template and graphics by: ali :: words: 299
