stomach full of spiders. (winter_romance) wrote in marginalbeauty,
stomach full of spiders.

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July 2003.

I sat on my front porch this morning, looking out at the world as if I've grown to know It... not really doing anything. Just sitting and thinking... wondering if this was the person I really am. This little girl, inside a woman's body with her whole life ahead of her. I searched for meaning in the grass, the trees, the clouds, and wondered why they were so thick today. I saw this lonely petal on the sidewalk. Rose petal, and wondered where it came from... where it began... and why it was so lonesome. I saw myself in it.

Here against its will. Beautiful around others like it. But when .s.e.p.a.r.a.t.e.d., it becomes this mental picture of death... solitude. But only when its on its own does it really stand out. Its nothing but itself, ordinary and boring. Taken for granted.

and no one will ever know it was there or what had happened to it... unless there was some oblivious bistander... staring in its direction, observing it in it's natural state.

It was still pink, and fresh and new,... but dying on its own.

I watched the cars drive by and wondered if they saw me, knew me, passed judgment as they passed me.

I've been wearing the same wife beater for three days... covered in perfume. I just did laundry and have plenty to wear, but for some strange reason, I can't find a reason to wear anything but a plain white tank top and a pair of pajama pants. I've always dressed to stand out. Be unique. Be creative. But for the past 5 days, I've had no reason to be unique. to be creative. to stand out.

You can't stand out when you're all alone.

I've taken pictures of myself, to get an outside view of who I am to other people. Is this really how they see me? Something about seeing pictures of myself makes me feel like I'm not so alone. Pretending that someone was there to take it. To take interest. To savor the moment and capture it.

Its strange how easily we can trick ourselves into believing a lie.
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