Nobody talks about how cripplingly lonely it is when people prefer the idea of your rather than the soul that lives inside. They see you as just a pretty picture inside a defective frame, like a painting that shows a distorted version of you.
Nobody talks about how isolating it can be when the way you present yourself to others is the only way they see you; like a shallow pond, they lack the emotional depth to dig deeper. while who I present myself as is me, I am not limited to this version of myself.
Nobody talks about how disappointing it is to be seen as merely a symbol, a representation of however you seem to fit into someone’s life. Like clay they mold you into whoever they want you to be. You never get a say in which role you play; read your lines, follow your stage instructions, and like a puppet master they hold the strings.
Nobody talks about how infuriating it is to be seen as just a pretty face when there is a brain and a heart inside my body that I carry with pride. They don’t care to know the capacity of either; how my love knows no bounds and how my hunger for knowledge cannot be satiated. My ambition, my creativity and my drive define me. I am more than just a pretty face.
Nobody talks about how draining it is when everyone only sees you as the mask you portray to the world. How ignorant to believe that the facade I put on is representative of all parts of me. My gorgeous visage would never tell you that I like to watch movies on rainy days, or that reading in the bath regulates me. It could never express all of the tiny pieces of me that make up the puzzle that is Mimi.
Nobody talks about how cripplingly lonely it is when people prefer the idea of your rather than the soul that lives inside.
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