So, What’s it Gonna Take?

I see you. I see you as clear as the reflection I see in the mirror.
I also see you as clearly as I see the inaccuracies which reflect in the mirror.
If that makes any sense, which I think it does.
Or at least, I believe this makes sense to people like us.

And you can hide all you want to. You can run.
Or you can try. You can sneak away and avert your eyes and act as if this doesn’t exist,
but the idea of faking it until you make it doesn’t always make sense.
You can look away if you want to. Or you can act as if I am not here or in the room.
But I am.

Even if I am not in the room or if I am far, far away, you and I both know that the elephant in the room is still the elephant in the room.
There is no way to avoid the obvious.
We can try. We can pretend.  
We can lie to the world,
but we can’t lie to ourselves, at least not here.

We can act though . . .
We can act as if none of this exists, but the truth is, we both know what’s true.
We both know where we’ve been, and we know what we have been through.
We know what we have seen and what we missed and we both know that what we have is not what we wished for. And somehow, this is what we have.
Like it or not.

I see you perhaps more than anyone else has seen you before.
This is not bad or mean nor is this a threat to who you are and no, this is not intended to disturb your existence or threaten your silence.

I want you to be you.
I want you to be exactly who you are.
Never change this.
Please.

It seems there is a lie that goes around the world. I see this all too often.
There is a lie that comes in the form of an unfortunately one-word description.
Ugly.
Ever hear this?
This is a word that is inaccurate and untrue—but for some reason, we tend to internalize this word and hold this close and tight, despite its danger.

Ugly. . .

This word kills people.
Did you know that?
This word is worse than hate.

Ugly . . .

This word is worse than all the stigmatized descriptions we hear.
I’d rather be a million other things than ugly.
Of course I would because what else in this world is worse than being ugly?
All insults and hurtful curses and all discriminative roads lead to being ugly.

What does it mean to be ugly?
To be ugly, as in unwanted . . .
Or to be ugly, as if to mean unsightly or repulsive.
Who wants this?
Who asks to be ugly?
No one.
Ugly, as in disgusting, unlikable, unwantable, and unworthy of love, life, friendship, or attention, and essentially, all an ugly person is worth is the darkness of a deep hole.
Am I right?

I can tell you that I know about this hole. I’ve lived here for longer than I realized.
I have been called ugly. I have been called a loser.
I have been called stupid, but worst of all, I have been called this by someone who I loved and who I assumed loved me.
But that was a lie.
I know about the ugly hole.
I know this hole well and intimately.
I know about the isolation, in which no one can see me, no one notices, no one cares and no one else regards me or considers me for anything.

I know the roles of the outcast because I’ve played them.
I know about being the pariah and the unwanted.
But worse is the role of the one who stands on the outside, looking in.
Worse is the ability to see those around you and see them smile or feel their happiness and not be part of it or to feel so goddamned odd or out-of-sort, that all you want to do is go back to that hole in the ground where I’d hide.

Worse is to not like your own skin. Worse is to see your reflection and detest what you see.
Worse is to not fit or to be able to be comfortable and even worse is to be surprised with an invite to come to the party, “dressed as you are” because to you (or in my case, me) nothing can dress or hide the invisible scars or erase the assumptions that whoever sees me will only see my damages, or worse, find that I am ugly or otherwise unsuitable to exist.

Nothing is worse than this except, of course, the worst part are the people who promote you to think this way. Or even worse are the people who depend on your weakness so theirs can appear stronger and thus, they can be beautiful in comparison.

I see you though.
Lost in thought, you are.
Always assuming. Always believing that this is “just you.”
But no.

I have proof that you have no idea who you are.
I hold this with a high regard because I have seen what happens when you walk into the room.
I have noticed my personal thermometer and how this changes, just because you were there.

I know there are lies. I know there are fears.
I know there are differences and yet, I know the world is a better place with you in it!

I know this.
I know this the same as I know there is a sun above.
I know this the same as I know there will be a moon out tonight.
And I might not see the moon tonight because the clouds might interfere, but I know the moon is up there.
I know the stars will twinkle. I know the wind still blows and sure enough, I know the sun will come up, and I know the day will be underway.

I know that people come, and people go.
I know that not everyone is chosen to stay with us.

I know that fate plays tricks and that destiny has more in store for people like you and I.
I know this.
At least, I want to

I refuse to believe otherwise because otherwise, I will be sad or disappointed or worse, I will be without you which means that I will be ugly again.
I will be lost again because the world around me will have lost its beauty
— again.

I know that men are not supposed to speak this way — supposedly.
I know that my understanding of manhood is off or inaccurate. Therefore, let me cast aside my concerns about whether this is manly or otherwise weak, or sad.
Let me dismiss the worries if this is too vulnerable to consider. Let me forget about the bullshit versions of toughness because this is tough enough, to be here like this, and to be open this way.

I defy the male ego. I defy the grammar nazis and the literary critics.
I defy my so-called judges, and I defy the world around me.
In fact, I defy myself and bring this out instead of hiding this away, like I used to.

I remember when I was young or at least too young to fend for myself.
I was too afraid to speak openly enough because I failed to have the language or the vocabulary to tell you how I felt. I used to hide behind my image or my plastic identity. or when I was really young, I used to hide behind the hair which grew over my eyes.

I was never anyone’s first choice.
Or, so I thought.
I wanted more.
I wanted to please.
I wanted to be accepted or to be wanted.
I wanted to be included or at least invited but this never seemed to be the case.
No, my misperceptions led to misinterpretations.
This is what led me to believe in the deception of my perception.

I see you.
And you can hide if you want to.
You can run too but no matter where you go, there you are.
Trust me.
I have been chasing my own tail for decades now.
But I am done running in circles.
I am done sitting on the outside, wondering if anyone is going to invite me in.

I used to wish that I was part of the circle.
Then I realized that my circle is different.
I may not be beautiful anywhere else, but I am welcome here .
And you?

You are more celebrated and wanted than you could possibly imagine.

I swear.

“You are enough”
“Don’t Let The Hard Days Win”
All great slogans.
But mine is this
Please, don’t die.
I need you around —
so my world can be beautiful.