Yo, my loyal samurai warriors. I don’t have much to talk about tonight. I have a memory to share. Something that I thought about while I was talking to Daddy today.
Back when I was Junior High, first year I believe, I was asked to write a poem for literature about how I saw myself. Everyone had an easy time with it, everyone but me. I had no personal thoughts of myself, I only ever thought about what people thought about me. That’s because they would often tell me very loudly of what they thought. I remember asking to be excused and going to the bathroom, having written nothing I planned on staying in there until the bell rang. However, as I paced infront of the bathroom mirrors the light caught my eyes a certain way, so I stepped closer and saw how gray my eyes were. I thought of just how cold they looked, they reminded me of when I used to go spulunking during summer vacations. The mountains were always cold and dark, with just a hint of blue. I then noticed how pale my skin had gotten almost like death had touched me, and my lips looked red. Suddenly after looking myself in this light I knew what I wanted to write. This is as close as I can remember what I wrote.
“ ‘Dear God, get a look at you, you’re hideous!’ ‘Yeah haven’t you looked at yourself in a mirror lately’ I often hear these questions asked and today I finally know what to say back, ‘What I see when I look in the mirror is mountains cold and deep, full of wonder and knowledge; my red lips have tasted blood of a thousand sorrows; my skin reminds me of the meeting I had with death at the age of 18 months; and my dulled blonde hair speaks of the heritage that I was birthed with, also of the safety that would have been granted me safety among my dark hair, dark eyed family’. ‘Go ahead and spew your words, they are as weak as your minds, because I can walk away from years of abuse and find something beautiful about myself’” .
I turned this into my teachers and even though it didn’t meet any of the requirements, they said it captured what they had wanted the kids to think, but only one besides myself even got close to that expectation. They said that even though it wasn’t perfect, they hadn’t heard anything as honest or deeply thought come from a person my age in years. I got an A, but I shared this writing with no one. They would have thought I had mental issues or that I was being overly dramatic. Or that I stole it from someone else. Which since I don’t read poetry I have no idea if I did or not. You tell me.
However this also made me think of the first time that I cut my hair after the age of 7. That was 8th grade. That was the year that I change a lot of things. People say that it’s high school that changes them, for me it was Junior High. Anyway, so I finally was ALLOWED to chop my hair off. I cut it so short I looked like a page boy, that was also 2 ½ feet of hair cut from my head. Possibly 3 feet, I don’t remember the exact measurement besides the fact that the person that cut it was shocked that I had that much hair. I digress a little, this is the year that I realized I can’t please anyone, so I might as well start pleasing myself since I hadn’t really started doing that at all. I reworked my life, beliefs, music, books, writing, and style. However the style was on accident. See I either got hand me downs or Goodwill clothes because we were rather poor. So mother had to take on a job with long hours, so things weren’t getting done around the house. Dad didn’t do clothes because he didn’t knows whos was what. Red (my brother, the mean one I don’t like, we will call him Red) wouldn’t because he was lazy and no one had taught me yet. So one day I had no clean clothes, huzzah! That day I snuck into Red’s warhdrobe which was a box under his bed in the basement and grabbed a long black sleeved shirt and I had some black pants on. This is right after I cut my hair. I show up to school that day in black with really bright blonde hair short hair. And when my nickname was Rapunzel you can bet people were shocked. However, people hated my long hair and my missed match clothes. So one day I show up with short hair and perfectly matched clothes and they still aren’t happy. They call me “boy” “crossdresser” and “Goth”. Now I hadn’t heard of Goth until that day, so I delved deep into information about this topic when I could. They regretted ever mentioning anything after that.
Weird how Junior high kind of defined who I am now huh? Lol. However, I don’t think I am as angry as I was back then. Don’t misunderstand me, I’m a bitter, violent person, but not angry. At least not that angry. Apparently my eyes are hard set after my years of anger. The funny thing is, is that I was in anger management at one point and they said nothing was wrong with me. I didn’t know I was that good of an actress at that age. Tehe ^_^
Anyway, that’s it for now. Lame, huh? Just something I remembered. How was your school years? How goofy do I sound as a kid? How goofy do I sound now, since I am not out of my childish stages it seems like yet? Comment below! Let me know and as always thank you so much for reading and have a wonderful day!
Openly Yours,
DanniDarkness.
dannidarkness 